Writers workshops. I must say I learned more poetry and literature in writers workshops than in school or university. I am particularly referring to a writers group Wednesday workshop that Galian sa Arte at Tula (GAT) in Manila used to hold. The best literary personages in the Philippines mentored or started here. I was lucky to be part of it. I also started many writers workshops in Manila, New York City, and Asheville NC. ✍📃✍
Whoever said street dissent is easy? My youth was punctuated by protest moves, as an activist and/or journalist. Dictatorship years. We were hosed down, tear gas’sed, truncheoned, and many simply “disappeared” or shot dead right there. The end justified the means yet we heeded “rules” of civil disobedience. We stayed right where we were, we stood our ground, we delivered the message. Yet it wasn’t an “awareness” picnic. Don’t expect coolness and sweetness in a street protest. ✊👊✊
Moviewatching was a staple household activity when my children were little. Mostly, they chose the movies. On our obligatory weekend trip to the open market, we’d pass by the video rental store and rent 3 or 4 betamax tapes. Movies helped me in my parenting responsibilities. Movies that are aptly suited for young, developing minds. Their favorites were “Stand By Me,” “Hook,” “ET,” lots of dog movies, chimp and dolphin movies, too. These days? PG isn’t really PG. 👧🎥🧒
Summer delight. Fiesta season basketball games in the town plaza. Me and my brothers played, coached, and organized events as well. On regular days, neighbors would gather in one house and loudly enjoy games on TV. Heckling, laughters, and petty wagers. “Ending” means guessing the last two digits of final scores. The “ending” boy (or girl) would scour the village for bets before the nighttime game. They get paid and earn for week’s school allowance. Fun. 🏀🇺🇸🏀
When I was a little boy in a mining town in northern Philippines, 4 PM was an eagerly-awaited time. Our favorite radio fantasy adventure “Simatar” was on. We kids would gather together and listen in total pleasure. Those days when afternoon TV “soap operas” occupied lazy chill moments of mom and aunts. “Tia Dely” and “Kuya Cesar” were popular stuff. I’d pretend to sleep but I was actually listening. My imagination was very active. 📻👦📻
Turntables. Growing up, a Victrola turntable was in constant activity in the house. My dad was a huge fan of Elvis Presley and so he’d be doing the pelvis moves as “Jailhouse Rock” rocked. My mom, Patsy Cline and Doris Day. My uncle Elpidio would play bossa nova LPs by Sergio Mendes, and others by Herb Alpert and Javier Cugat. Santana’s “Abraxas” was in helluva rotation! Then I’d be spinning vinyls myself for family and immediate neighbors. Sweet! 🎼🎼🎼
We call it “poso” in the Philippines, derived from the Spanish “pozo,” an old-style water pump. Pumping of water is a practical technique, better than lifting water in a hand-held bucket from the well. Since water supply as basic utility service wasn’t cheap, poso was a logical means. Conservation was necessary and living imperative. Plus village discipline was observed. We had to line up per “agreed” number of pails for our turn to fetch water from the poso. 🌬💧💦
Open markets in Asia. Produce, meat products, and other goods are not regulated so untaxed although the place is inspected by the health department. While some maintain stalls, most peddle where space is available. No fixed pricing; all depends on negotiation. Community fervor is alive. A general “reuse” vibe is also practiced. Old newspapers are recast as shopping bags, bottles and cans are refurbished as vessels for vinegar, cooking oil etc. 🥦🐟🍆
Walking. Except with my life in New York City (late 1990s to early 2000s) and few meters walk with the dogs in our village each afternoon, walking isn’t my life’s thingy anymore. But not because I don’t want to. America is different from the Philippines or Asia, where people inhabit the streets, 24/7, literally. In the U.S., unless you are walkin’ with a dog, you’d be mistaken as some shady dude. Walk far, you could be hit by a vehicle. No walk lane. 🚶🚶♂️🚶
Picnics of my childhood or youth. When we were little, my dad would bring us to the beach a lot or in a camp on summer days. Seafoods royale and rice cooked on firewood, with pure water from a brook nearby. When I was a teenager, I’d constantly travel to my kin’s sylvan village in the barrio. We’d picnic by the river among rice fields. We’d gather escargots and catch cat/mudfish. Corn and veggies were fresh harvests. Cook `em right there. Those days. 🐦🍃🐓
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