50- Hors D'Oeuvres

                                         Yup, we're all stuck in a sheet pan- together. 

                                       (PHOTO FROM: http://www.foodgloriousfoodbayarea.com)

We are all hors d’oeuvres, appetizers, in the eyes of the powers that be.

When was the last time you had a go at trying to “make things happen” in your life? Did your efforts go forth in vain? Well, if your attempts at success failed to meet the mark, did you not feel crushed? Devastated? Driven to eat? If we are hors d’oeuvres, then, do we not, metaphysically speaking, “eat ourselves”? When we feel saddened by a chain of events, we tend to pass around the “blame baton”, but at the end of the day, we blame ourselves for our mishap ridden lives. We “consume” ourselves by insisting that we are to blame for the disintegration of what we incessantly claim to be an existence worth mentioning in a broadsheet byline, a squall, soaring high above the mundane valleys of life.

At the end of it all, we realize, while immersed in life’s struggles, that yes, we are but bruschetta, cupcakes, crab cakes, a bowl of mixed nuts which, despite being fundamentally flawed in taste and overall quality, tend to be eaten again, and again, and again, either when people are inexorably depressed, or, when they are ridiculously blissful. There’s a plateful of irony for you.

And so goes, this moment of candour about the inner workings of human existence- and walnuts, pistachios, and peanuts swimming in salt, in a bowl that your local barman probably hasn’t washed since, well, “Frasier” was in its 5^th season.

MC

49- LOST: Rome

Rome. April 2013. 

I need to write this to cleanse myself of the microbes of off the traditional capitalist tomfoolery, tasteless humor, and unending cycles of shattered creative glass. No more. 

What was that? Perhaps it was just an odd run at being part of the herd. Not this time. Not for this entry. 

So I was walking around Villa Borghese on a Sunday afternoon. I kept walking, and walking, and walking, until I found myself in Piazza Della Republica. No deal. Not for going home. I found myself wanting to absorb as much of Rome as I could. Why not, right? It was destined to happen. 

By 800pm, I decided to walk home. Walk I did. Walk I did. Walk I did.

"Wait, where am I?"

That is what I exclaimed after a while. No taxis. No buses going around. No tricycles, jeepneys, or their first cousins. No way. I had gotten lost in Rome. At night. 

I am no human compass. Not by a mile. I needed to rely on my crumpled tourist map, and the powers of geographical common sense, to, at the very least, get me onto a main road. Laugh all you want. I wasn't laughing. I was nervous- but excited. I was excited, and all scrambly trying to get my GPS to work. This had become an adventure- albeit, a dangerous one. 

Some bums doing POT began approaching me. I kept my cool. Were they going to rob me? Mug me? Stab me? Kill me? 

Turns out they were too "high" to do any of that. Fortunate goat, I was. Fortunate goat indeed. 

Via Clitunno. A little later into the night. A block from the hotel. Relieved. So yes, my mom was mad about me having checked in late. But hey, the entire ordeal was worth it, in a way. 

Had I not gotten lost, this article would cease to exist. 

I did an Audrey Hepburn. I had gotten lost in road. Migi the adventurer. Migi goes Hollywood. Migi goes to his roots. Migi goes home.

I am not a robot. I am a wanderer, in a positive way. Why bother knowing the way, when getting lost can be oh so exhilarating? Even life changing? 

Lose the GPS. Get lost- but bring some guts (and brains) while you're at it. 

Roma. Charming belle. 

Let's get lost. 

Again. 

MC

48- Progress: Denied?

 
Here's a quick snapshot of Tanah Merah MRT station in Singapore. What most people I know don't understand would be just how VALUABLE a train line to a country's airport really is.

Where I live, we do not have a train that goes straight to our local and international airport terminals. I live in Quezon City, in the northern section of Metro Manila, in the Philippines' National Capital Region. If I were to take a taxi from my place of residence to our "Terminal 2" (where, if memory serves me correctly, I could catch a Delta Airlines flight to Detroit via Narita, for example) on a weekday afternoon, it might take me 1.5-2 hours to get to my plane stop. To travelers who fancy last minute sojourns to catch flights that WILL NOT wait, this sort of route is a death knell.

In Singapore (and in some other countries I've been to, for that matter), there is a train that goes to the airport. Trains going to other major transport hubs need not be luxurious. They just have to be efficient, clean, and relatively affordable. From what might be the same distance as Quezon City to Pasay City (where Manila's major airport terminals are located), I managed to get to Changi Airport in less than an hour. Yes, you read that right.

It is said that a nation's transport system reflects how progressive it is. I love my country, but honestly, our transportation system leaves much to be desired. The fact that we still have jeepneys that stop on a dime at any point that passengers dictate, and the fact that we still have tricycles (sort of like Bangkok's "Tuktuks") which clog up city streets and are most times the cause of unforeseen road mishaps due to their drivers' insistence to enter major thoroughfares for what may only be described as something akin to the Wacky Races with sweat and gore on asphalt, says that we still have a ways to go before we can say that we are truly "global".

The Department of Tourism is perceived as a government office that is often the proverbial landing strip for politicians at the "end of their rope" in so far as their respective terms as Mayors, Congressmen, and Senators, are concerned. Nepotism is the problem here. The tendency is that the powers-that-be appoint these woebegone politicians to head the DOT to repay personal debts/favors, and not because those whom they appoint are skilled practitioners in the field of Tourism. I know of career officials in government who have the sufficient skills, experience, and morals to be in certain key posts. I feel bad for them. I feel disappointed that they get overlooked in favor of people with just a little more clout and influence than the next guy. It is disgusting that our country's readiness to accommodate tourists is compromised because of greed.

I am not saying that the Philippines is the only fertile breeding ground for corruption. Other places face similar problems. It is just increasingly frustrating that we can't even get a train system going for those who, ironically, want to fly out of the country- and come back. The fact that these people come back, or, "go home", to Manila says that there are people who still love the Philippines.

These people love the Philippines, but maybe, not the goons and debauch agencies that run it.

MC

47- Boracay

There will be no fancy photos here.

Maybe this entry comes on the heels of the summertime in the Philippines slowly descending into the bottom of the sea.

Or maybe not.

Boracay is one of the Philippines' crown jewels for tourism. Granted, it does have pristine beaches and the island does have a 24 by 7 vibe to it.

This brings me to my main point- why am I not interested?

Okay, perhaps I am all about boring and all about ennui. Or maybe, there's something else about it.

People watching can be fun, and heck, there is extra incentive tied in to people-watching especially when the people you watch are pretty, pretty, folk. Partying can  be fun, a lot of fun, but where do we set limits to this? When does partying, being whimsical, become laughable?

Maybe I just tend to eschew "mainstream" in general, that's why I don't consider myself, or ever want to be, fully indoctrinated into the "Boracay" crowd.

Call me old fashioned, but, I'd rather go on cultural treks and go museum hopping rather than partying for 3 days straight.

If Boracay's the best of our tourist spots, then, we've got a lot of work to do. There's so much more to our nation's culture that people shaking wildly to Arman Van Buren.

(In some ways, the Arman Van Buren reference is, in itself, old school)

MC

46- The Singapore MRT

                                                     From my 2013 Singapore sojourn. 

Whenever I think of Singapore, I can't help but gush about the city's train system.

Metro Rails may be a mundane subject to many, but, for a kid who's grown up and lived in a country which is still working to sort out its public transportation system, an engineering and urban planning feat such as the Singapore MRT is something I can't help but marvel at.

Singapore is not a large country, relatively speaking. The fact that the island has MRT stations at what seems to be every corner makes it all the more simple and convenient to navigate.

The Mass Rapid Transit of Singapore opened in 1987. Next to Manila's LRT system, SG's train network is the oldest in Southeast Asia. According to Wikipedia.Org, 2.6 million people ride the Singapore MRT on a daily basis. Manila's trains are also packed on a daily basis- despite being far more unreliable than their Singaporean equivalents.

Before I get too "stat crazy", do allow me to get "experiential" about this subject.

I love the fact that the Singapore trains are usually on time, and that stations are usually packed with signs which help guide commuters as to where to go, to get to what part of town. I also like the fact that there are ushers around (at least in some of the stations I managed to visit) to assist commuters who look (or are) lost.

It is also a plus that Singapore MRT trains and MRT stations are usually immaculately clean and organized. Commuting in a country as warm as Singapore is no joke, so, being able to do so within an environment that is more or less comfortable and easy on the sense is a big motivation for many to just keep going, and not do an about-face and head on home. Believe me, chaotic train stations in Manila turn off many a commuter. They find it more prudent to turn around and take the bus to go to work, or, pack up and go home altogether.

This isn't an advertisement for the Singapore Tourism Board. This isn't a paid advertisement, period. This is merely a statement of truth, and me appreciating the fact that a little organization, and social vigilance, goes a long way.

I know the Philippines is an archipelago, and by virtue of it being so, it then becomes difficult to organize a transportation system which covers the entire country in one go.

This doesn't mean we can't start small, and dream big, though. Not by a mile.

MC

45- Freedom

Death is life, and life is somehow defined by the finality of death. I find myself today at a loss. One of my grandparents has passed on. Having learned of her final days made me think.

Freedom is soul less the burdens of the flesh. In her last few weeks on Earth, my grandmother was not in the best of health. Illness had made it hard to even breathe, much less do anything we who are young, vibrant, full of strength, deem to be part of routine. We take too many things for granted while we patrol this realm. Ironically, life itself, living, is one of those things.

This is supposed to be a travel blog, peppered with the usual stream-of-consciousness stuff that is meant to make observations hold water before the Jury of Meaning. As I have been faced with the reality of death, I have been reminded of the significance of the ultimate journey- of trying to go through life "doing" Carpe Diem, and not just wearing the words on a t-shirt.

My grandmother- and all the others I have had (we are a big family), for that matter- are absolute gems. I use this term to describe them because it is through them that I have recalled the brilliance of living, and living fully. Times were not always easy for these women, no way, but in their own individual ways, they persevered. One was a nurse, a few homemakers, and another, well, could kill sea snakes with her bare hands- or so she told wide-eyed little me when I was very young. They all have managed to weave a brand of magic that I don't think I will ever cease to appreciate.

Whether I find myself in Manila, Kuala Lumpur, Los Angeles, Rome, or, well, at the bottom of a well somewhere, I know the spirits, the virtues, of my kin will always be with me, helping me navigate through life. I would be so much less without these amazing guiding lights.

Life is defined by death, and death, by life. True freedom is also defined by the treasures rendered by a life lived, and while life is lost as the journey ends, the life is never, ever, forgotten.

Love knows no death. Love lives free. Love flourishes upon which radiance would normally never be.

MC

Posted via Blogaway

Posted via Blogaway

45- Memory

Have you ever gotten sick and tired of how your coffee tastes like in the morning? How the city traffic gets under your skin? How life's conundrums which ultimately boil down to money and power rape your soul of dignity?

Yes. I thought you'd say yes.

Here's a thought.

People surf the internet for fun. Sometimes, we skim through cyberspace for work, but most of the time, we do so for fun. Some people surf the web and search for pictures, beautiful pictures. Of places. Of things. Of the stuff dreams are made of.

Beautiful scenery like this, for example, is Google-d, and marveled at very, very, much.

           A shot of Singapore's many buildings and thoroughfares from the Marina Bay Sands                                                                                    view deck. 
                              (Take note of the magnificent Singapore Flyer on the left hand side!)


I believe that many times, people tell themselves that they "want to travel" because they "can't stand being idle" or "can't stand being stuck in one place". Perhaps, a slight change in dialogue, would be in order. Maybe we should tell ourselves that we should travel so that we can heal the malaise known as seeing life from a single perspective.

Paste a thousand eyes on me, will you? While you're at it, make those eyes look in a thousand different directions so that I can see things better, so that I can make sure that I am able to take note of every single beautiful detail that makes up the WONDER that is YOU.

                         A picture of a serene Monday afternoon in Camarillo, California.

"Getting away from it all" shouldn't just be a buzzword. It should be a fully comprehensible, tangible, part of one's lifestyle. Explore. Invent. Create. Have vision. Live life with an infallible zest. The value of all this can't be overstated.

I've been fortunate enough to have been able to take the photos above in person. The pictures here came from my own camera. I clicked the darn thing, and it snapped up a memory, forever frozen in time.

I encourage people to make memories during their every waking moment. I encourage them to do so because every memory you create, and subsequently cherish, are things which never really fade or wither. Memories only become more deeply embedded in our spirits with time. They are gifts that go from womb to tomb.

To close, I would like to thank you, the reader, for taking time to read my blog. The thought that a handful of folks take time to read my thoughts is, in itself, a memory I hold dear.

MC