of self-help books and a concert

In a few days, for at least 30 minutes, I will be speaking in front of a 300-strong crowd. Talking of things of which I find myself being suddenly being called an expert. I feel it is undeserved.

I am scared shitless, excuse my French.

After all, the biggest audience I have presented to is probably in the range of 30-50, way back in high school speech/debate class with such topics to defend or go against like, “To love is to care”. Or this other time when I had to speak extemporaneously for 3 minutes on the topic, “If money grew on trees I would…” Or yet this other time that I’ve had to speak to a crowd of considerable number, was to say a wish for my cousin on her debut as one of the 18 candle holders. Back then I only managed to say a one-liner my relatives would endlessly tease me about afterwards “I wish you will always be happy.” At 12 years old, I was painfully shy - the priority was to get-that-mic-off-my-face-NOW. I figured you can never go wrong when you wish someone happiness. Isn’t that what everyone wants? No? For a while back then I didn’t understand those adults and their matters of consequence, if you get my drift.

Yes, I’ve taken part in recitations and school presentations, or even in my most recent life, presentations to clients, I’ve got a press conference under my belt. But that hardly amounts to a crowd of 300. This is out of my league. I don’t have Deepak Chopra’s confusing philosophical ruminations (I don't want it come to think of it) nor half of Obama’s charm. I never wanted to be Oprah, or worse, Kris Aquino. I am not a talkie. Let’s try another tactic here.

Maybe I need a self-help book. In my mind I see flashes of covers I’ve seen through the years and maybe they will help to calm my nerves.

“Tough Times, Don’t Last… But Tough People Do.” Uhm, this doesn’t help.

“ The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook.” Get me this book, now. On the other hand, let’s not entertain negative thoughts. Down with this book.

“ It Was On Fire When I lay Down On it”. And this explains what? My lack of utter authority to discuss the things I will discuss? Down with this book too.

“How to Lose Friends and Alienate People.” Noooooo, this not what we are aiming for.

"How to Make Friends and Influence People.” Sounds right, but not my style. Too literal.

"What Should I Do With My Life?" Yeah, what should I...

“The Unbearable Lightness of Being.” Great book, yes. I can re-read this many times, but...

Perhaps this isn’t a good idea, I am channeling the sprit of the wrong books. I need to remember past experiences. Times when I succeeded right after I panicked. Times when I worried too much and things turned out fantastically well. Happy times, carefree times…

I think I have one, which might take the cake.

Circa: the 80’s

Venue: Folk Arts Theater

The scenario: 3 little girls prodded by their musikerong tatay to join a Karapatang Pantao protest concert by underground musicians. Singing a Gary Granada song entitled “Magagandang Anak”. We were in our best yagit-inspired outfit (read: dasters) singing our hearts out and seeing nanays and tatays in the crowd weeping. We were believable extras that took the stage without knowing the full implication of performing in THE folk arts theater. When we got off the stage the nanays were hugging us, touching us, making us feel like veritable stars.

Afterwards, we went back to tinkering with the backstage black curtains and all those other interesting things you see backstage -which was really the highlight of our nights. It didn’t matter that we were in the midst of Pinoy rakenrol greats, singing in a venue bigger than our worlds ever looked at that point in time.

Ignorance is bliss.

Now it can’t be that bad right? I survived that performance, what’s a 30-minute presentation on Vietnam’s labor trends (read: boringgg)? I’ll survive Tuesday. I have a plan. And if everything still falls apart I can always break into song –they won’t know what hit them. While I slink away via stage right…or left, straight into a place (a café, a bar, it doesn’t matter) across Hoan Kiem lake, where I will watch the sights and sip my wine. Here a great book comes to mind again, "By the River ...".

Performances like that always need a scenic end.

bright blue doors that say, come hither

Imagine this:

You're walking, no, leisurely strolling down a certain street in Saigon one sunny weekend... crowded streets (the usual), zigzagging motorbikes that come at you from behind (you're not surprised anymore, just annoyed), mini parks with lovers (you still love Luneta best), trees and more trees, smog and smoke rolled into one, vendors, endless vendors selling shoes, bags, jackets, food, a bright blue door that says "Law Office"...

Ehrm, you stop dead in your tracks, infinitely curious. Pre-schools have bright blue doors, or day care centers... with little colorful mats that are filled with puzzles, wooden alphabet letters, the works. What you see throws your universe-as-you-know it out of place. But your are Alice, parallel universes appearing out of the, uh, blue must be an occurrence to expect.

What's behind the door?






You slowly inch you way into it looking around you, expecting any moment now a certain queen to shout "Off with her head!", or worse a grinning Cheshire cat enticing you even more to open the bright blue door (by the way, you don't like cats)...

But all your little worries aside, you know you can't continue walking now. This door knows you, it is speaking to you, "Open Me". It has caught your weakness and knows you can't walk away without taking a peek. You don't really know what you expect to see.. A table with a lone dark bottle that says, "Drink me"? A mad tea party? A deck of cards dancing? You have to have a go at this door.

And you do.

Of course it's locked. You didn't think it would be that easy did you? After all, it didn't come with a key that says, "Use me". You're convinced your rabbit hole is out there somewhere.

when rock needs a rest

It's quite possible that you've "heard" what happened to the Eraserheads concert last Saturday. I am at least a thousand miles way but watching the you tube videos that shortly came out, I had goosebumps like everyone else after the final countdown and saw the fab 4 being elevated into the stage. Truly historic. It had all the makings of a good drama right from the start, and I have a funny feeling this isn't finished yet. Remember that feeling of a sudden break up you didn't quite see coming? It leaves you with a weird, floating feeling because you still have a lot of energy and emotion about it to dispose. Until you're done, you can't just "shake yer head and walk away"... I guess that's how everyone else feels right now. BUT, considering how things went down it feels almost selfish to suggest a part 2 this soon. Has anyone else noticed how well-behaved Eheads fans have been after the concert was cut short? They have treated it very sacredly with the collective message being, "just seeing them all in one stage was enough!".

The E needs a rest before the final rock out, and i think everyone is more than willing to give him that. In the meantime, read what the man has written below a few years ago in his column called "Cursor" for one of the broadsheets. As usual, his patent unfazed disposition mixed with silent rebellion over all things regular and expected shines through. Isn't that what we've always loved about him?


A Dystopian Holiday
By Ely Buendia

The skies have turned black. The wind is howling. It picks up your skin’s scent. Raindrops the size of bowling balls bombard your little nipa shelter. Everyone fears that a tsunami is coming. It’s only four o’ clock in the afternoon at the beach but already the signs of the impending apocalypse are everywhere. And this is not just any beach, and not just any day. This is Boracay in the middle of summer. You gotta feel really special.

Admittedly there’s nothing like swimming in the ocean while a storm rages all around you. A major existential conundrum presents itself: Should you bring an umbrella out into the sea? Our banana boat driver cowers beneath his speedboat’s dashboard, in a vain attempt to escape the rain. Nobody wants to get wet on the beach.

It was the third day of Pupil’s stay in what can only be described as a dystopian holiday at the country’s most popular beach resort. Of course, I was probably the only one in our party who considered a bleak future for this trip. I was never an outdoor person, definitely not a beach person, not a people person either. So why was I riding a rickety jetprop all the way to where I most certainly not rather be? Well, there’s certainly room for an exception. This one being a business trip, it’s quite easy to forego any other considerations. Plus, it was an MTV and Motorola gig, so you know you’re in good hands. Who knows? You might actually enjoy it.

On the airplane though, you actually remember why you hate traveling right smack in the middle of summer in the first place. There are simply too many people going to the exact same place that you are. There’s no exclusivity at all. Well I guess it was asking too much.

Upon landing in Caticlan, the first of many tests on my resolve began. You see, I didn’t pack anything that resembled beach attire at all, partly out of laziness, partly out of protest, mostly to see if I could get away with it. This was purely a business trip, dammit. I was a businessman, and I was going to dress the part no matter what.

But I could not stand the thought of getting sand in my pristine white Pony shoes. I secretly inched my way to a nearby store and bought a pair of cheap sandals. Well, who looks at feet anyways?

After freshening up at the hotel, we were told by the producers to go to the beach immediately for soundcheck. I put on a black shirt and jeans, feeling a bit too casual than necessary. I was in for a surprise. Walking along the well kept strip mall that served as the main pathway to the beach, I came to recognize how much people took summer seriously. Everyone was practically walking around half naked, while yours truly struggled to keep his chin up in the face of utter displacement. Frankly, I had never felt so naked by being overdressed. It was The Blue Lagoon everywhere. I bravely pushed on, thinking that what really mattered was that Diane was walking alongside of me and she was wearing a beautiful swimsuit. No one would notice how ridiculous I looked. I was wrong. Practically everyone I met at the soundcheck commented on my out-of-place outfit. Okay, they had a point. But I wasn’t going to perform in a pair of skimpy Speedos.

By nighttime, everyone was used to The Guy Who Liked Wearing Long Sleeves and Jeans To the Beach. The food was great, the weather lovely, the music out of this world and the crowd, primal. It was, as the song goes, almost paradise. I made it through without breaking a sweat. Like I always say, clothes make the man. And without it, are we not animals?