an artist's space

I am in Kabasalan, Zamboanga Sibugay, facilitating an arts therapy workshop for kids in crisis. I'm handling the creative writing workshop. I'm overwhelmed by the intensity of the children's stories, most of whom have suffered emotional and psychological scars brought about by poverty, abandonment and a deep culture of violence. One of the kids even keeps a knife and chain under his shirt. "For protection," he says, from the gangsterism that is prevalent in their village.

Today as a breather local artist Ibn Saud Salipyasin Ahmad invites me and other workshop facilitators to his serene artist's space. We take a 15-minute boat ride to his property that has been developed into a commercial fishpond. It's also a bird sanctuary. "One politician went here a few years ago," Saud recalls. "Seeing a lot of birds, he asked me if he could shoot some birds here. I said no."

In the middle of the waters is a small hut where Saud paints during the day and enjoy what he calls the "solemnity of dawn." 

As I look at the sunset I couldn't help but think of the kids in the workshop. I whisper a silent prayer imploring the One to give the children a ray of hope in their lives.

Ibn Saud The artist Salipyasin Ahmad in his element.

bon appetit

I went to SM Mall of Davao this morning. I skipped breakfast, so instead of going directly to the supermarket (I ran out of cat food and litter) I decided to have Krushers and and a box of fries at KFC. 

In the United States KFC has earned bad press because of the company's inhumane treatment of animals. But in my city it is hailed for being highly sensitive to Muslim dietary restrictions. It is halal-certified, which means chicken are slaughtered in strict compliance with Islamic laws. Their Double Down sandwich makes use of chicken ham instead of the pork variety. Because of this, they attract a huge Muslim patronage. A good marketing strategy.

But that's not the reason I'm writing this. Let me continue. I sat in one corner of KFC, slurping my yogurt-based drink while I waited for my fries. Kristine, the service crew, asked me if I was willing to wait 15 minutes for the fries. I nodded. I was not in a hurry. 

While I was seated two men (probably in their late 30s to early 40s) occupied the table a few feet in front of me. The restaurant only had few guests at that time. My fries arrived. I started nibbling them. One of the men opened a plastic bag and took out a deodorant roll-on. He removed the cover and smelled it. He looked pleased and offered the deodorant to his friend to smell. His friend declined. I thought that was it, that the guy would put the cover back and return the bottle to the plastic bag.  He looked around and thinking that no one was watching him, he took the deodorant under his shirt and proceeded to rub it on his armpits. At that point I wanted to throw up. Is urbanity too much to ask for? I reprimanded myself for not looking away. I witnessed the whole episode in all its grossness. 

I gorged on the fries, sipped all the contents of my glass (careful not to vomit) and exited the restaurant. I went to the supermarket and did what I was I supposed to. While I was paying at the counter, my cousin Pipo sent me an SMS.

"Are you in the house?"

"Nope. I'm in SM."

"I'm also in SM. Where are you in particular?"

"Grocery counter."

In a minute, Pipo was there.

"Let's eat," he said. So we walked to Shakey's Pizza. We ordered pizza and mojo fries. While we were chatting I looked around the restaurant, recalling the last time I ate there. I couldn't remember. My attention was then caught by a small, light brown insect crawling on the next table. It was a baby cockroach. 

Two restaurant horror stories in a span of two hours! I didn't want to forget it. So I took the camera from my bag and snapped a little memento to remember it by.

lost in translation

Two of my friends posted messages using foreign languages on Facebook. The first one was in German. I clicked the "Like" button to show my appreciation. This friend works in an NGO, co-owns a garment business, takes care of her husband and two kids, and being able to squeeze in classes at Goethe Institut in her already tight schedule I applauded her for the great endurance and impeccable time management skills. The second friend wrote in French. I noticed two errors so I sent a private message informing him of the mistakes. Seconds later, I got a reply. "That's how Google Translate did it," he said. I soon found out that my friends have just discovered the supposed wonders of the new online application.  

GT does not have my confidence, yet. It's new; it's still in its infancy. It's bound to create mistakes. Last year I had the dialogues of my film translated to Italian. Even though GT was free and convenient, I knew exactly that I needed a real person for the job. Someone who breathes, eats and knows what he's talking about. Not a computer application. I guess it will take years before GT can produce acceptable translation. I don't think that's the point, either. It's supposed to be a reference, a tool to provide an elementary understanding of texts written in a foreign language.

To prove that the translation is poor, I conducted an experiment by translating English phrases and sentences to Filipino. I wish I could post the translated 'bastos' texts here. They're hilarious.

Did Google hire Kris Aquino as their language consultant for this?

This one is clearly the work of Jimmy Santos. 

The message is loud and clear.

to france

Limbunan continues its journey this year as it competes in Vesoul Festival of Asian Cinema this February. It faces tough competition from films of China, India, Georgia, Japan, Iran, Korea and Uzbekistan.

Vesoul is a commune in Eastern France. It is a four-hour drive from Paris.

The Festival's official selection consists of the following films:

Addicted to Love by Liu Hao (China)
Wang Liang's Ideal by Gao Xiongjie (China)
Where Are You Going? by Park Chur-Woong (Korea)
Susa by Rusudan Pirveli (Georgia)
Riding The Dreams by Girish Kasaravalli (India)
Running Among the Clouds by Amin Farajpoor (Iran)
Haru's Journey by Kobayashi Masahiro (Japan)
P.S. by Elkin Tuychiev (Uzbekistan)
Limbunan by Gutierrez Mangansakan II (Philippines)

a bad apple

Three days ago my four-year-old MacBook reset itself to default settings. The screen turned powder blue and all the files on my desktop disappeared. 

I tried searching all possible remedies online to restore it to current settings, from Google-ing potential solutions to joining Mac discussion groups. So far my efforts haven't yielded any positive result. The closest I got to finding a solution was this

Despite the various replies, the question remains unanswered. 

Today I tinkered with my MacBook and discovered the following:

1. All the programs that I installed are intact. I opened Microsoft Word, and it acted as though it was newly installed.  I tried iPhoto and the same thing happened. I noticed that there are no stored photos in any of its folders.

2. I opened the 'Documents' folder and it's empty. I tried the Hard Drive but there are no files there. I entered a filename in the Spotlight search bar, nothing. 

3. I checked the storage space. There are 12Gb available. If all my files have been deleted, it would have freed an additional 20Gb. "My files are somewhere," I told myself. 

4. I downloaded a program called MacKeeper. It's supposed to restore missing or deleted files. When I opened it, a dialog box said that it's not compatible with my operating system. My MacBook still uses Tiger. 

I'm beginning to accept that I wouldn't be able to restore my MacBook settings anymore. I read in the websites that I visited that this is most likely scenario. The missing files, on the other hand, is a different matter. Scripts, essays, manuscript of my next book, case studies, my friend Nikola Madzirov's poetry, photographs. They are an important detail of my life. 

I feel like a part of me has died. Three days have already passed. It has remained hidden, lying in a cold dark tomb. 

bath time

The dream of every cat owner is for their feline to behave while they are being bathed. Having nine cats, bathing time is both stressful for me and my feline friends. They are scared of the water. I am scared of the scratches that usually result after the bath.

in the arms of my love

I flew back to Davao today via Air Philippines from Cagayan de Oro. The flight took 30 minutes only. The airline started flying the route last year and it's the best (and should be the only) option. The fare is low. The service is fairly good. The Cagayan de Oro airport needs a lot of improvement though. 

In the past the two cities used to be connected only through an excruciating eight-hour bus ride which became increasingly dangerous due to violent attacks. A van will take about six hours but it's not for the faint of heart. The driver can be merciless.

When we landed in Davao, the flight attendant announced that we were 41 minutes ahead of schedule. It's a nice, welcome change. 

in the pit of hell

I'm in Iligan where they have probably the worst taxi in the country. They don't have a meter so you have to agree first with the driver before hopping in. The problem is, what's your basis to haggle? At least in Manila, where the notoriety of its taxi drivers is renowned, you can calculate a contract price with the driver (it's illegal by the way) based on a metered ride that you may have taken in the past. For example, taxi from the airport to our house costs around PhP350 (US$8) granting there's light to moderate traffic. If the driver doesn't want to use the meter (especially during Christmas time, bad weather or rush hour) I haggle with him to take me home for PhP400. Fine, PhP450 if I'm in a good, charitable mood. 

In Iligan it seems the taxi fare is calculated based on the disposition of the driver, the alignment of the stars, which basketball team won the last game, how the passenger looks, etc. We took a cab to a quaint restaurant last night; the driver charged us PhP70. We could have walked to the damned place if it weren't drizzling. 

When I got to my hotel, I tried to access the internet to check complaints about the taxi in the city. The internet was down. Suddenly my four-year-old Mac Book reset itself to default settings.  I'm using "itself" because I didn't touch anything. Now all my files are lost. I've spent the whole afternoon looking for online help on how to restore system. No luck.

The worst part of it is I'm sick. I have headache, fever, bad cough, asthma and runny nose. I want to go home. I'm in the pit of hell. The best I can do is whine. 

fresh off the grill

After toiling under immense amount of pressure to beat a grant deadline, foregoing sleep, bath and meals, I have finally written the script of my next film Letters of Solitude (Cartas de la Soledad). I'm sending this to Manila today, praying for the best. To double the chances of getting this produced, I will also come knocking on other potential producer's doors and endowment offices.

accolade

ClickTheCity.com has released its list of ten best films that were screened in Manila last year. Its resident critic Philbert Dy noted that "2010 was kind of a strange year in film. Hollywood’s blockbuster output seemed lackluster, with only a few choice names crafting films worth remembering. It was a "relatively strong year for local output, each of the major festivals (including, shockingly, the MMFF) producing at least one film that will undoubtedly gain a place in the pantheon of great Filipino films." But even more exciting are the films that are truly independent, made without the guidance or the help of any of the local grant programs.

10. How to Train Your Dragon (Dean DeBlois, Chris Sanders)
9. Inception (Christopher Nolan)
8. Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (Edgar Wright)
7. Limbunan (Gutierrez Mangansakan II)

6. Toy Story 3 (Lee Unkrich)
5. RPG: Metanoia (Louie Suarez)
4. Ang Damgo ni Eleuteria (Remton Zuasola)
3. The Social Network (David Fincher)
2. Senior Year (Jerrold Tarog)
1. Kano (Monster Jimenez)

Dy wrote a review of Limbunan in July. By including it in his list of the year's best, he explains

Limbunan moves gracefully. Just as gracefully as the women it portrays, who silently bear the ritualized oppression of culture and norms even as the rest of society moves forward. It is quietly powerful, painting a clear picture of a tradition without resorting to easy judgment.

talents to watch in 2011

Spot.PH has come up with the top ten Filipino talents to watch in 2011. Guess who's one of them. Moi.

Ria Limjap wrote

I love the way Teng Mangansakan’s lovely Limbunan was the breakout star at Cinemalaya 2010, and how it was overlooked at the local festival and then suddenly swept off into the prestigious Venice International Film Festival (Limbunan was the first Filipino film to be invited to the International Critics Week section, mind you). I’m always happy to see a Filipino film find appreciation in the international scene, and I was doubly glad to see a Moro filmmaker take his film around the world and show the beauty of Mindanao’s landscape and culture. A lot of exciting things are coming from regional cinema and I am particularly looking forward to this filmmaker’s new work.

dance, dance, otherwise we are lost.

I'm pretty excited to see this new Wim Wenders film. His tribute to the late German dancer and choreographer, Pina Bausch, who died of cancer in 2009. 

PINA - Dance, dance, otherwise we are lost from neueroadmovies on Vimeo.

travis bickle heads cannes 2011 jury

Travis Bickle will head the jury of the 64th Cannes Film Festival from May 11th to 22th 2011.

By inviting Bickle (Robert de Niro Jr. in real life) to preside the jury, the organizers also want to pay  tribute to the co-founder of the Tribeca Film Festival which celebrates its 10th anniversary in 2011.

"As co-founder of the Tribeca Film Festival and the Doha Tribeca Film Festival I have an increased appreciation for the jury, who serve, undertaking an important role in choosing films that are represented in the world of film at its highest level, and these types of festivals help connect the international film community and have a lasting cultural impact," de Niro said. 

He came to Cannes for eight of his films, two of which won Palme d’Or: Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver, in 1976, and ten years later, The Mission directed by Roland Joffe.

new canon xa10

I fell in love with the Panasonic AG-AF100 HD camcorder when I saw it late last year. Not anymore.

Canon has launched its compact XA10 professional camcorder for "run-and-gun shooting" and low light conditions. It can record full 1080-line HD with frame rate selection to match the user's preference - 60i, PF30, PF24 and native 24p.

It is scheduled to be available in the U.S. market this March for an estimated retail price of $1,999.99. It is far cheaper compared to the $6,000 for its Panasonic rival. The question now is: When will it be available in the Philippines?

i'm still here.

I resolve to watch more films in 2011. I begin this year's movie watching with Casey Affleck's I'm Still Here, starring Joaquin Phoenix.

The film chronicles a year in the life of Joaquin Phoenix who commits career suicide by announcing that he is “retiring” from acting, while at the top of his game, to become a hip-hop star. He shuts himself off from the protection and better judgment of his agent, manager and publicist, and sets out on a jaw-dropping journey into a decadent frenzy of sex, drugs and outrageousness, as he tries desperately to break away from his old celebrity persona to develop his rap career. Mired in self-doubt and harsh criticism from the media, he struggles to find his identity.

The film raised a lot of controversy from the very start. When Phoenix announced that he was quitting the screen, some were quick to speculate that it was just a publicity stunt, a hoax since he was always seen with Affleck with a retinue of  production members filming his transition to hip-hop stardom. Controversy intensified when the film premiered at the 67th Venice International Film Festival with Affleck and Phoenix declaring that it is not a documentary, stirring the debate regarding the rise of questionable documentaries. 

The film starts with a very quiet opening sequence which becomes a harrowing experience as Phoenix slowly and steadily turns into a neurotic mess, desperately trying to navigate the spectrum of his creative abilities in the full glare of the media, being an object of ridicule in the process, failing from one point to another.  It is tiring as it is disturbing. But in the end it makes you realize that transformation is not easy, for celebrities and ordinary people alike. Only those who endure can win.

I'm Still Here is a film skillfully crafted by Affleck which makes the audience believe for two hours that what they are seeing is real. More than that, it demonstrates Phoenix's great acting ability. His performance of a tormented, miserable actor who has to confront the demands of both craft and business -having been introduced to showbiz as a child and losing his brother River in and to it– through the years have increasingly pushed him to the edge. 

artist of the decade

Critic G. Roger Denson has named artist and film director Shirin Neshat Artist of the Decade. 

Quite simply, I chose Shirin Neshat because more than any other artist I can call to mind, the impact of her work far transcends the realms of art in reflecting the most vital and far-reaching struggle to assert human rights.

More than presenting images of women in Islam, what is more important in her works is that they create a wider discourse on gender and religion. Not only from people in the West, but also from people who are under Islamic regimes who would feel in some way neglected and marginalized, like the women in Mindanao who are increasingly required to wear the hijab. The discourse I am quite sure would be both familiar (to other Islamic societies) and uniquely our own.

I had the pleasure of meeting Shirin Neshat last year in Venice where she served as head of the jury of the Orizzonti section. In 2009, she won the Silver Lion (Best Direction) for her stunningly beautiful film, Women Without Men, which chronicles the intertwining lives of four Iranian women during the historic summer of 1953. From our brief encounter, I could feel the power not from her words (she spoke a few) but like the images in her art works, from the elegant and courageous way she carried herself.

ama

Dear Kirby,

I read the Facebook status which you posted during the New Year about how surprised you were to find out that your great grandfather, Datu Udtog Matalam Sr., was born on January 1st 1901. I saw the photo above in your account (with your great grandfather seated at the left) which I took the liberty to post here. I hope you don't mind. I could not ignore a comment from your cousin saying that it was her first time to see your great grandfather, at least even in a photograph.

I am sorry that you didn't have the opportunity to be with him. You were only a baby when your great grandfather -my grandfather— died almost three decades ago. I was six years old then. I didn't have any clue who he was, or what he was that time. I didn't know he was a war hero. I had no idea that he was the governor of the undivided Cotabato Empire from 1946 to 1949, and from 1955 to 1968. Nor was I aware that he founded the Muslim Independence Movement which propelled the Bangsamoro people to fight for their right to determine their destiny. I guess by now you have read books that have cited his life and career by scholars like Thomas McKenna, Patricio Abinales, Alfred McCoy, Patricio Diaz, and others. Do not believe everything they have said. Keep your mind open because whatever truths that lie beneath their books barely reveal the real person. 

For most people, your great grandfather was the Datu. For me, he was plain old ‘Ama.’

What I remember most was on Fridays I would always join him during prayer in the mosque. Clutching his hand, I would walk closely behind him to the front row. Sometimes your uncle Bimby and Pipo would be there too. Your uncle Pipo and I would look each other in the eye and giggle when the congregation chorused, "Ameen." I don't know why. After prayer there would be kanduli but it didn't fascinate me as much as your uncle Bimby. That is why Ama fondly called him ‘pandita.’ The idle afternoons would be spent taking turns sitting on his lap.

Ama was loving as he was strict. He spoiled his children; my mother was his favorite. Among his last wishes was that she be buried beside him. How morbid! He had the tendency to be feudal, but never cruel. He ordered that your aunt Baicoco keep her hair long, which she does to this day. The women in the family cannot marry non-Muslims, an order only the stubborn few dared to violate. Back then he would not allow us to play with the servants' children so it was always me and my siblings and my cousins. There were times though that we were able to play with the servants' children, when he was not around, on condition that we would always win the game no matter what. 

Then he suffered a stroke that paralyzed him. He was in the hospital in Davao for some time before the family decided to transfer him to his house in Matina, then months later, to the red house in Pagalungan. I was already studying in JASMS that time. We would regularly come home to visit him.

During his last days, whenever he saw us, a tear would fall from his eyes. Perhaps it broke his heart to accept the fact that he would never see us grow and become what we are now. If he were alive today, I know he would be proud of what you have become. A lawyer. The first in the family.

In the end we owe something to him. More than the illustrious name that we inherited, we should be constantly reminded to love our people. To love one other. To be a good Muslim in the ways that we know. I know it is hard. Day by day our lives drift apart because of ambition and the selfish desire for power. But we should keep trying. 

Best Regards,

Your Uncle Teng

tarsila project

My mother and I are embarking on a project: To update our family tree. Over dinner we discussed certain guidelines. First the genealogy will only go back as far as my great great grandparents, which means the project will trace the family tree from the late 1800s. In case there are contentions, varying opinions shall be recorded and will be validated in the appropriate time.  This project will in no way supplant existing genealogical records.

This is an ambitious project, one that is bound to be controversial and touchy. Several years ago my uncle’s Christian wife, wanting to know more about the family she married into, started making a similar project. My late maternal grand aunt, Bai Masunding, advised her that there were things better left unwritten. She defended her research by saying that she only wanted her children to know their roots. Bai Masunding made a stern warning, “Stop lest you be struck by lightning.”

The heart of royal genealogies is to prove descent from Shariff Kabunsuan, the nobleman from Johore who came to Mindanao in the early 1500s credited for the spread of Islam in the island and the establishment of the sultanates. He is believed to be a direct descendant of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him). Nobility is, thus, based on this connection to the Prophet. 

Genealogical records or tarsila, particularly those with credible information, end in the late 1800s. This project is going to take up where the earlier chroniclers left off. So excuse me while I wear my anti-lightning helmet lest I be reduced to a heap of blackened bones. 

top ten filipino films of 2010

Filipino critic and blogger Francis Cruz included my film Limbunan in his list of the top Filipino films of 2010.

In his review of the film last July, Cruz wrote

Mangansakan tells the story of the land and its people via the pains of the women... Despite touching these themes of repression and denial of self-actualization via the requirements of cultural identity and for all the seeming obsolescence of these restrictive traditions in a present age where democracy is preferred, freedoms are valued and gender equality is emphasized, Mangansakan admirably takes a non-judgmental stance. In fact, he grants the ritual and all the reasons and rationalities for its continued existence due respect and reverence. Moreover, he meticulously recreates a setting where cultural details, from the patterns in the cloths to the singing duels prior to the wedding proper, are preserved. Limbunan, in all its stylized storytelling and its undeniable splendor, is most importantly, a very personal ode to his often misunderstood and misrepresented cultural roots.

rubber for the aristocratic phallus

Liked homemade treats at a public school bake sale, condoms wrapped in foil just seem so (dare we say it?) middle class. Fornicators of a higher caliber no longer have to demean themselves with crudities such as packages wantonly displaying terms like “ribbed” and “lubed” thanks to the designers of The Original Condom.