Dispatches From The Fringes Of Typhoon Ondoy

On the 23rd of September (Wednesday), PAGASA meteorologists noted the presence of a low pressure area on the east of Luzon. They initially said it will not develop into a full-blown typhoon. By Friday evening (September 25), PAGASA released the first typhoon signals. Signal numbers 1 and 2. Quite common and nothing alarming for a country that is frequented by typhoons almost year-round.

Tropical Storm (technically not typhoon) Ondoy made landfall between Quezon and Aurora on Friday night. In the next 12 hours, it will dump rains that will submerge huge parts of Luzon, including Manila. Submerge will be an understatement; for this will be one of the worst rain and floods in recent memory. More than 50 people will die and the damage will be unspeakable.

I went home Friday evening earlier than usual to watch the finale of my favorite soap. Moderate rain was falling when we got out of the office. Upon arriving home, I saw the newsbreak about the typhoon signals. I am sensitive to news like this because I live near a creek which has overflowed three times in the past months. I watched TV and packed my weekend bag during commercial breaks; just in case I have to go home to Bulacan in a hurry. I was able to do a few laundry, tidied my room and even installed new kitchen shelves. The rain has been falling in varying intensity and I panic when it pounds mightily for more than 20 minutes.

I finished my housework by midnight. I am ready to leave any time. I opted not to dress in sleepwear and chose instead jogging pants and an old shirt. A hooded jacket was handy in case I need to go out quickly. I braved the rains and placed most of my stuff in the car. I set my alarm to scream every hour so I can check the river. I plan to sleep and I was hoping I can wait until the first light of morning to vacate the place.

By 2AM my alarm went off. Rain was still heavy and I checked the river. The horror. It has reached the alarming level (when the tall grasses on the side of the river disappears). I decided to leave before the roads become impassable. I called my other neighbour who owns a car and told him I’ll go. He said he’ll follow later. The rains were quite heavy but the drive to Bulacan was bearable. Since it was 2AM, there are few cars on the road so I was able to easily avoid the flooded sides of the street. I was at home past 3AM and was asleep before 5AM.

I woke up at 9:30 and started to tweet and check Facebook via mobile, unwary of the falling rains. I was mulling over finishing the paperback I was reading or doing a DVD marathon. I even watched AC360 on CNN.

By midday, the local news turned ugly. The images and footages streamed on TV news were abysmal and horrific, to say the least. Raging rivers of flood waters where main roads once were. Entire houses swept away by the current. People standing on the rooftops of their 2-storey houses and waving to be rescued. Parts of EDSA, usually safe during heavy rains, are flooded. Boats on EDSA getting the passengers from stranded buses. Vehicles on a standstill on the main highway, mostly abandoned, just a breath away from the flowing river of flood. In Marikina, floods have stacked vehicles on top of each other. People using rubber tires to rescue stranded people.










I texted my sister the updates on TV and advised her not to go home. She’ll be safer in her office than defying the nightmarish traffic and foul weather.

The floods spared no one; even the elite and famous living in posh villages are rendered vulnerable. In a way, tragedy has a way of equalizing us. When the floods do subside, muck and mud covered everything. This is something I have seen before on CNN. During the onslaught of the Christmas 2004 tsunami across Asia and the wrath of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans.

But when tragedy hits this close to home, nothing can prepare you. The images hurt. You think about your friends in the affected areas. You think how it could have been you.



The rainfall on Saturday is said to be the worst since 1967. Thirty day’s worth of rain falling in the span of six hours. Not unlike a tsunami swell, the floodwaters rose too quickly. I don’t think people have time to salvage what worldly possessions they have. When you’re in the middle of this biblical calamity, nothing matters but Life. To live and make it through.

Watching the newsfeeds, it’s disarming to see smiling faces and people waving at the cameras. Or children swimming in the floods. This, amidst the background of a cruel disaster scene. This says so much about a country that has survived a lot of natural and political catastrophes.

I am writing this blog on Sunday morning. A weak sun is fighting with the rain clouds but the rains take over once in a while. Last night, Typhoon Ondoy passed nearby Pampanga and the wind and rains here were frightening.

I don’t know what happened to my room in Quezon City (to call it a condo would make it too fancy). I am preparing for the worst; the floodwaters might have submerged the second floor and washed over my things. I lost contact with my neighbour and the last text he sent said that the flood was already above human height.

I am thankful that I am writing this blog from a third-person perspective. The horrorscapes I painted are what I saw on TV news. I know this will pale in comparison to stories from friends who experienced first-hand the blunt of the storm. While I am apprehensive about my QC unit, I am just thankful that my family is safe and our main house in Bulacan is firm and far from the waterways. My relatives and most of my dear friends are safe. While the storm was blowing over, I was dry in bed; with food, water and electricity. Even if the stuff I have in my QC room will be ruined by the floodwater, my car is intact. I am thankful that at least I was not there and I am not one of the people standing wet on the rooftops.

In the end, the power of a storm is measured not by the gust of its wind or the volume of its rainfall. It’s the lives lost...the lives forever changed. The memories of yesterday and the hopes of tomorrow obliterated by the weight of water.

The aftermath maybe more challenging that the actual storm itself. The rebuilding more dire and painful.

In times like this, our countrymen need all the help they can get. I have posted below pertinent information about charities we can support. I encourage everyone to do their part. Just think how blessed you are that you are not one of those people needing help.

ABS-CBN Foundation / Sagip Kapamilya:
BDO Account Number: 56300200111
Hotline: 413-2667
US Toll Free Number: 1-800-5272820
In-Kind Donations accepted at 13 Examiner St., West Triangle Homes, Quezon City

Red Cross:
Hotlines:143 / 527-0000
You can donate to Red Cross via text:
For Globe subscribers, please text RED <5,25,50,100 or 300> to 2899
For Smart, please text RED <10,25,50, or 100> to 4483.

***

Update: The outpouring of messages and concern on the web is touching. Philippines, Typhoon Ondoy and Red Cross became trending topics. Even international stars like Paulo Coehlo, Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher are asking for help on our behalf.

Let us do our part.

So Funny I Drooled

The day has come that a local movie tickled my funny bones so hard that I drooled.

It’s 1AM and I am still wide awake from the adrenaline rush brought about by laughing incessantly in the last two hours. Friends know that it takes the corniest or the smartest of things to make me laugh real hard. And when I do, the laugh attack is so involuntary (like heartbeat) and lasts for several minutes, even hours.

I am not a big fan of comedies, especially the slapsticks. As far as I can remember, I have never watched an Adam Sandler or Ben Stiller movie (I prefer Steve Carell). And I hate Tito, Vic and Joey and noontime variety shows. I prefer high-brow comedy...the likes of SNL and Friends.

So it's Friday and the start of an OFFICIAL long weekend. We decided to jumpstart the three days off with a bang. We trooped to Trinoma to watch a movie we’ve wanted to watch since last week. Peer pressure... those who already watched it gave us a you’re-so-2000-and-late look.

I’m talking about Kimmy Dora. Starring the super/mega comedienne for all seasons Eugene Domingo.



The plot is simple. Kimmy and Dora are twins on the opposite sides of the spectrum. Kimmy is accomplished and evil...straight out of The Devil Wears Prada. Dora is good-natured but Pentium 1 (read: slow). The twins are vying for the affection of their father (Ariel Ureta) and Johnson (Dingdong Dantes). Click HERE if you want to see the trailer.

The movie has a melodramatic twist towards the end but this is overruled by the avalanche of hilarious mishaps and antics. I swear, laughter literally rocked the cinema (it’s the movie's second week and the LFS screening is still full. Word of mouth maybe...and peer pressure). I think even my chair was howling with laughter. There were even times when the audience would clap and cheer with the side-splitting moments.

Yes, at one point I was laughing so hard that saliva escaped from my mouth (good thing the audience was also laughing so they didn’t hear the splash). TMI moment. And on the way home, I would remember the amusing scenes and I will end up laughing by myself. Even the thought of Peter Piper and the pickled pepper is enough to send me LOL and ROFLMAO. And that Dora-pretending-to-be-Kimmy sequence is immortally droll!

Eugene Domingo (who often plays sidekick to other comediennes but would always steal the limelight from them), is well-deserving of this starring role. She is a seamless actress with impeccable comedic timing and nuance. Her performance here is worthy of a best actress nod (if only comedies are not overlooked in acting derbies).

This movie first made headline when it was revealed that Piolo Pascual produced it. Which explains the splattering of cameos (the most unnerving of which was Jinggoy Estrada). But I’d say that it was Eugene’s performance which scored the home run to make this a runaway hit.

I give this movie an A+ for halving my stress level. Even the bloopers towards the closing credits gave the audience a final laughing frenzy. Everyone went out of the cinema still smiling.

But the riotous hilarity didn’t end there. Upon exit, we heard someone say: "Grabe ha, ang daming extra na artista. Sino ba dun si Eugene Domingo?"

Bravo!

Kanye At The VMAs: Heartless

Last Monday, the web sizzled with news that Kanye West hijacked Taylor Swift’s speech during the MTV Video Music Awards. When Taylor (currently the biggest selling artist of 2009) was onstage accepting her Best Female Video award for You Belong With Me, Kanye grabbed the mic and said that Beyonce should have won the award. Towards the end of the program, Beyonce (who was ultimately awarded the top Video Of The Year prize) would call Taylor again onstage to reclaim her moment.



Celebrities quickly rallied against Kanye. Pink, a fellow nominee in Taylor’s category called Kanye “the biggest piece of sh*t on earth.” Kelly Clarkson blogged: The best part of this evening is that you weren’t even up for THIS award and yet you still have a problem with the outcome. I was actually nominated in the same category that Taylor won and I was excited for her...so why can’t you be??

Later, Kanye would have a lucid interval and apologize profusely. But what for? As OneRepublic would sing: it’s too late to apologize.

I want to just laugh this off as an awards show antic (remember the Bruno-Eminem moment at the MTV Movie Awards?). It’s something I expected from Kanye. He has a long history of forcing his opinions in the most inappropriate of occasions.

I never cared for Kanye and I know I never will. I like some of his songs but I am not really a fan. True, he has the talent that makes him standout in the music world. But that talent is overshadowed by his shameless attitude. I think rappers need to market themselves via huge egos (again in reference to Eminem). They need it to assert their street cred. But Kanye is a really bringing “egotistic” to an insensitive and tasteless new level.

I don’t think Kanye did this to show his admiration for Beyonce (she was obviously embarrassed). He did this for himself. Kanye thinks his opinion rises above everybody else’s. FYI, Kanye, awards like the MTV Awards are fans-centric. You are free to make your own KW Awards where you can venerate all your biases.



Now I can’t help wondering if Beyonce’s song Ego was inspired by Kanye.

I am an advocate of respecting people’s opinions. But here’s my two cents: I am not impressed at all by Beyonce’s Single Ladies video. While the song is catchy, all she does in the video is gyrate in stilettos and leotards. Can someone please tell me what is groundbreaking in that (or “one of the best videos of all time,” to quote Kanye)?

This new development in Kanye’s EGO-logy suddenly renders his song Heartless as autobiographical.

Falling Rain, Dripping Thoughts

It’s Sunday and I just woke up from a rewarding sleep feeling superbly rested. I’m beginning to crave these weekend rests. I vowed to myself that I will work like a workaholic (huh?) from M-F; but weekends will be decidedly quiet and uneventful. And I’ve been successful for the past months (insert pat to the back). So quit asking me why I seem happy and glowing (it’s not about the four letter word).

The weather is halfway agreeable. The rains over the evening left everything damp and cold. But a weak sunshine is now arguing with the still-heavy clouds. I survived the entire night without the help of a fan and I remember waking up to look for a blanket. It was unusually chilly. But I like it that way.

The bed is still invitingly cold (and I don’t mean that as a metaphor) so I decided to linger some more and read. I’m a third into an Anita Shreve novel and her prose really has a hypnotic effect. The story revolves around a reunion of college friends and it made me crave to be around my long-time friends. The ones who promote no animosity even if I barely see them in years.

Last night I dreamt that I was watching a movie with my Marketing buddies and then an earthquake struck. Pandemonium ensued inside the dark theatre. Surprisingly I remained calm and nailed to my seat. Like it was part of the entire movie (was it a 4D cinema?). I don’t remember what happened next but I wonder what that meant. Ever since the July 16 and Mt. Pinatubo days of my teenage years, I’ve been a little paranoid about earthquakes. But more thrilled than fearful of it. I may be a geologist in my previous life (which explains why at such a young age I know the atlas like the back of my hand and I can identify the tectonic plates and volcanoes...geek alert!).

The problem with rains and cold weather is that the small meals I take will not last as long; I am perpetually hungry. Also, since I am on water therapy, I feel the need to pee more often. This is really inconvenient during long drives (by this time the restrooms at gas stations materialize like oasis in the desert). Plus, the rains make me deviate from water and glug down a decadent amount of coffee.

The good thing about the rains is that it showers me with inspiration. I just want to stay locked in my room and read and write. Maybe if it rains for 40 days, I can write an entire book. Well, assuming it does not lead of a flood of Noah’s proportions.



Something in the rains also makes me listen to sad music. I’ve listened to Jeff Buckley’s The Last Goodbye thrice in the last hour alone. I’ll try Sarah McLachlan’s Mary next; to see if it can amplify the gloom. (Shoutout to A: You are not allowed to say that I am again sad and tortured. Blame it on the rains and the weatherman). Methinks the rains awaken the sentimental fool in all of us. Maybe, in wearing our pains in our sleeves, we wish for the rains to wash it away. R said it is because the rain represents our tears. Hmm...makes sense (forget that rain is freshwater and tears are saline). Alphabetically speaking, pain and rain are within arm’s length.

Wait...excuse me, I need to get food again. And pee.

Pensieve #4: Memoirs of 9/11

Exactly eight years ago, we witnessed the most horrific and striking terror attack of our generation. I am a thousand miles away from New York then and now, but still the mere mention of the numbers 9/11 gives me the goosebumps from atrocious memories.



Eight years ago, I came home very late from work. Only my sister was awake and I was having a late dinner in front of the TV. Suddenly there was breaking news about the attacks on the World Trade Center. The first plane has hit the WTC. I was confused for a while; I thought it was a freak accident wherein an airplane crashed into our own World Trade Center (the one in Pasay). Then the second plane hit and I realized that it was the Twin Towers of the WTC in New York. Terror attacks.

I remember calling my sister to watch the shocking news. My dad then joined us, probably woken by our alarmed voices.

The images of the planes hitting WTC are ghastly and horrendous; like an ugly B-rate action movie gone awry. But the exact science and choreography behind the attack brings it closer to a Michael Bay film.

It felt like the advent of World War III. I can’t believe it was happening in the United States, supposedly one of the “safest” places in the world (well, I had the same sentiment during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina).

Days from September 11, 2001, mouths are still open in shock worldwide. I remember news that the devil’s face was seen amidst the smokes of the WTC. And news that this was one of Nostradamus’ predictions.



I remember this freaky circulated email asking you to type in MS Word the supposed flight number of one of the fallen airplanes (Q33 NY), then change the font size to 48 and font to wingdings. The numbers will turn to images of a plane hitting two towers and symbols of death and the star of David. This is, of course, a cross between a hoax and a coincidence (because the flight number is incorrect). But a pretty creative twist anyway.

I remember watching Michael Moore’s Oscar-winning documentary Fahrenheit 9/11. The most memorable scene was the one showing President Bush’s face, who was then reading to elementary students when told about the attacks. Yes, he resumed his reading. Mastercard moment! Priceless.

I remember people saying that the reason Mariah Carey’s Glitter CD flopped was because it was released days after September 11 and it showed the Twin Towers of the WTC in its back cover. An omen perhaps. I remember various pop artists re-recording Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going On as a charity single for AIDS. But post-9/11, it became a pop battlecry against terrorism. Music does soothe.



September 11 became one of the darkest days in modern history and forever changed the global landscape in terms of the politics of terrorism. I lost count of how many people perished that day (I think it was over 3,000 people). And I refuse to understand the sick agenda being pushed by the suicide bombers. How can these people think that there is dignity in the killing of innocent lives?

I always believed in finding the beauty in the disaster. But it has been eight years and I still cannot see the sense in all this. No silver lining. No Hollywood ending. Except that somehow, America woke up from its Bush-induced slumber and embraced Obama’s offer of change.

September 11 is a grim reminder of how quickly life can change. I have never been to New York so I don’t have fond memories that are massacred by this absurd tragedy. But as human beings, tragedy is something that connects us all. Like a strand of reluctant DNA. Tragedy also has a lingering power; maybe as a way of reiterating the lessons we have to learn.

Sad to believe that in these modern times where barbarism and primitivism are ancient history, violence and terrorism are still possible options. Oh, sad human nature.

***

Because war is not the answer
For only love can conquer hate
Picket signs, picket lines
Don’t punish me with brutality
Talk to me, so you can see
What’s going on

The Opposite of Real-Life Fairy Tales

Truth is stranger than fiction. And in this case, LIFE has more drama than soap operas.



It’s 3AM and I woke up with a jolt. Someone is summoning damnation by shouting thunderous curses: “P.I. na buhay to...Argggh!!!” This will be followed by crashing sounds of something breaking. I thought it was a drama on AM radio. And then I realized the sounds were coming from our neighbour. By virtue of proximity of the sound, I concluded it is the neighbours at our back.

Mostly, it was the guy shouting followed by whimpery-in-anger sounds from the girl. The ruckus continued for about 20 minutes. And then total silence. Like it was only a bad dream.

By then, I was already pumped with adrenaline from the wake-up jolt and paranoia (what if they started burning their house) that I cannot go back to sleep. So I just decided to do some work. My Mom said that such fighting scenes from our backdoor neighbours were not uncommon. I’m just lucky that I’m not there often to hear their domestic squabbles.

Come nightfall, I rushed home in hopes of catching Tayong Dalawa (Yes, I’m not ashamed to say I watch this). I just parked and was about to close the gate when I saw my neighbour lingering outside. I said a quick hello but she started some chitchat. I don’t remember what we were talking about; but from out of nowhere, she burst forth with a personal crisis. Oh no.

Let’s hide her under the name Happy (Ligaya, in vernacular. For the sake of irony). Happy found out that her husband has been having a 3-year-old affair. They have been married for 30+ years and their youngest (of three) son just finished college. She discovered the illicit affair when he called her husband during a supposed “overtime” at work. Now, her children are angry with their dad and their house has become unbearable from all the underlying tension.

The plot does thicken. The other woman is the wife of a policeman. Happy has confronted the other woman and even threatened to have her privates ripped or have her killed by her very angry sons. Happy’s husband is already repentant but Happy said her trust has been permanently broken. After 30 years.

Happy even goes on to describe some details of their sex life. I wanted to scream “Stop, T.M.I.!” But I remained unruffled especially at the sight of her tears. Thankfully, she soon apologized for bothering me with her dilemma. After some kind words of wisdom that I could muster (from a singleton who has no idea about marital bliss, or lack therof), I said goodbye.

Upon entering my room, I quickly checked if I have balding head and a moustache. And if Oprah is on my speed dial. But no, I don’t look anywhere near Dr. Phil.



Who needs a soap opera when your next door neighbours are living the sudsy life? I wonder who plays Audrey. I want to meet her. And introduce myself as JR.



P.S. I don’t mean to trivialize these people’s predicament. Notice that I don’t even slam the institution called Marriage (one of my favorite debates). Truth to tell, I feel truly blessed for NOT having these problems. I think they call it single blessedness. Cheers!