The way the world begins
Sunlight. Sunshine.
Boons these be in mid-December, unusually warm as it’s been for this late in our year in our clime in our blessed spot that’s sometimes in harm’s way.
No truth to the rumor or spec-fic that out of pique our big-bear neighbor China has blocked the expected chill of the Siberian cold front from reaching us. No matter. Between lack of amihan winds and misconstrued Mayan doomsday prediction, we still have four days to pick it up, pick up from where we left off on donor fatigue, pick up and drop off more gifts all around, while contending with urban traffic and partying with loved ones till the western winter solstice on the 21st, when the world…
Ends? Naaah. Still too many bad-asses for our planet to blow up in space at this point, whether by Eliot’s fire or Eliot’s ice. It should be more of… tan-ta-ra-ran… begins.
There’s always hope for that turnaround. Already, while our Pac-man and our Azkals have both lost, our kawimenan appear to be finally winning over blind faith and dearth of reason. That makes all of us, for we are and will be where the women lead us.
Take that, anti-RH dodos. Take that, busybody bishops. Take that, legislators with nothing but personal agendas, personal reasons, private traumas and everything else expressed for voting against the march of progress — which we know to also strike a blow for secularization, indeed more degrees of separation between state and organized superstition.
So let’s party on for the week despite threats of a reversed margin from yet another smug congressman from the south and all the ruling-class hypocrites who take the name of God and the Church in vain while glossing over their grand thievery.
Party on! Now that a security guards’ party list has been disallowed, albeit still allowing its rep one more vote for sanctimonious hypocrisy, let’s party on! And hope the majority of the upper-house gentlemen also see that they can’t, shouldn’t, stop women from holding up more than their usual half of the sky — certainly not just because our men in robes desperately mount their usual rear-guard action to protect their all-too-fallible reading of their so-called faith.
On Dec. 7, the traditional UP Writers Night proved relatively tame, compared to previous raucously grand bashes. Still, it was a chance to get together with the top literary honchos of UP Diliman and then some: National Artist for Literature Rio Alma a.k.a. Virgilio Senadren Almario, prof emeritus Jimmy Abad, UP Creative Writing Institute head Butch Dalisay, UST Writing Center head Jing Hidalgo, UP Institute of MassCom head Roland Tolentino, UP Press director J. Neil Garcia, recent SeaWrite awardee Charlson Ong, Prof. Preachy Legasto, poets Marne Kilates, Vim Nadera, Mike Coroza and Joel Toledo (vacationing from Singapore where he’s pursuing a Ph.D.), divas Gou de Jesus and Celina Cristobal, and among other younger writers of the Dumaguete / Silliman U. workshop experience, Ceres Abanil, Jenette Vizcocho and Miro Capili.
Much wine flowed, beer bottles distributed, whisky unraveled from personal pouches, music played, songs sung, with some of the usual suspect poets rendering their familiar open-mic signature numbers.
The following day, on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, it was a splendid luncheon inexplicably tendered in our dishonor by author (Wrap Them, Store Them, Peddle Them: The Filipino Way, on the art and craft of Filipino food packaging, with photographs by Johann Espiritu and published by ArtPostAsia in 2008) Marilen Nolasco Espiritu at her and hubby O.V.’s Ayala Alabang spread.
Piece de resistance was a brick oven-broiled cochinillo, which Celina Cristobal, Bedan head honcho Lino Dionisio and I started picking on even before a lady helper started cutting it up.
Other select guests, which this dis-honoree, who happened to have edited the hostess’ coffee-table book, requested the presence of were food stylist Ditas Antenor, Discovery Channel video producer Mitzi Borromeo, Bedan businessman Aru Gallaga, Mind Museum head honcho Maribel Garcia, columnist Bambi Harper, photographer Nap Jamir, direk Butch Perez, Philippines Graphic editor in chief Joel Salud, columnist Che Sarigumba, artist-comadre Jean Marie Syjuco, ever-gorgeous poet-artist Maxine Syjuco, and philanthropist-painter Vicky Zubiri.
A burp party it was with all the buffet treats and trimmings, with everyone wondering what the dis-honoree had done to deserve the lavish repast with dear friends. Well, I’ll let you in on the secret. Next time Marilen invites to a post-concert party late at night, commit but do a no-show. That guarantees an invite to a cochinillo luncheon as long as you round up a posse of at least a dozen!
In any case, missed for various reasons including sheer orneriness were four other amigas para siempre: the Gilda Cordero Fernando, Karina Bolasco who had to fly to Naga for the Anvil launch of a book on the late Jessie Robredo, and writers and lifetime co-conspirators Marj Evasco and Susan Lara, the last recently appointed as director for the Duma/SU writers workshop of May 2013.
On Dec. 10 we had our board members’ party at the MTRCB building on Timog Avenue. Everyone was in high spirits as we had just found out that we had all gained reappointment for another year, with Bibeth Orteza as the only new BM, vice former BM Atty. Toto Villareal who had deservedly been elevated to the chairmanship, replacing the gracious Grace Poe Llamanzares who had to resign for her senatorial bid. (C’mon, readers, make me happy by voting for her. She’s a singularly intelligent, efficient, and great good lady who really deserves to be in the Senate; believe you me!)
While on this matter, allow me this space to condole with former MTRCB chair Marissa Laguardia who unfortunately suffered a house fire last week. No, she didn’t deserve that fate, but then it happens to the best of us. I hope she and her family recover fast enough from the misfortune. It was chair Marissa who was chiefly responsible for MTRCB acquiring its own building. So we all owe her that. And now wish her well in this supposedly merry season.
As for our new chair, Atty. Toto is perfectly qualified to succeed the efficacious Ma’m Grace. He’s a smart, articulate gregarious and extremely funny guy. That’s just for starters. He also happens to have been teaching Law in the Ateneo, and is a die-hard blueblood. Perfect qualification. (Which doesn’t quite explain why there are so many Ateneans in the board; I guess that just happened.)
Atty. Villareal also happens to hail from Mambusao, Capiz, which means he’s related to my beloved former mother-in-law, and should be full of stories not only of half-bodies flying in the night as in Mother Lily’s horror series for film fests.
In any case, we raised a toast to chair Toto that evening, before Palanca Hall-of-Famer Manny Buising, FPJ’s fave scriptwriter, entertained everyone with his Elvis baritone, as did Atty. Boyet del Prado with his J. Bieber covers cum youthful look. And co-emcees Keats Musngi and Gladys Reyes Somerreux kept everyone in stitches before making us all line up in inner and outer circles for a complex ritual of a gifts exchange. Followed the usual hot-footing on the dance floor, led by D.I. pros Marra Lanot (also a poet) and Mario Hernando, our fellow writer in this paper.
Now, speaking of D.I.’s, a total of five or was it six did we have the pleasurable company of last Thursday, on the 13th, when the yet roaring Red Lions of E.S. Class of 1956 and H.S. Class of 1960 got together again at the Villamor Clubhouse for our Xmas reunion party.
We may all be in our late 60s (with a few repeaters already in septuagenarian class), but we still party hard! Despite almost half of our exalted Mendiola brood already living and retiring abroad, a total of 32 Bedans ‘56/’60 with the undying motto of “Hanggang sa Huling Patak!” came for the raucous celebration, with Cebu lechon et al., dance time with svelte D.I.’s, bottles of whisky, wine and beer, and raffle prizes galore! 
Attendees were Delfin Amorsolo (perennial balikbayan), Ross Bautista, Cito Buenaventura, Ricky Delgado, Jun Diangco, Lino Dionisio, Tutti Ebuen, Tony Gueco, Lito Hernandez, Boy Hilvano, Jun Lao, Ed Lim, Jess Lindayag, Bert Martinez, Pete Martinez, Bobby Muldong, Jimmy Nangkaion, Bong Obligacion, Tito Orosa, Lewy Pasion, Mon Ramirez, Ding Reyes, Ruben Roque, Boy Santillan, Joey Tianco, Rod Valencia, Chat Veloso, Tuti Vergel de Dios, Sonny Vistan, Ding Wenceslao, Henry Yao and Krip Yuson.
Mark those names. One of these guys (towards the end, no doubt) will eventually win the LMS Prize, for Last Man Standing, which is the Papa Pondo we have accumulated all these years of reunions and monthly burpday drink-downs — thanks to all our expat bros who still believe that the continuing fund they contribute to is for some honorable cause.
Anyway, our big-timers were there, infrequent as their recent attendance may have been. Seen in a business investment huddle were Vistan, Veloso, Delgado, Wenceslao and Lim. We had a couple of docs in Hilvano and Pasion, a congressman in Hon. Valencia (whom I congratulated for his RH vote; more’s the joke that he had been on the losing side), a casino operator, a chocolate entrepreneur cum videographer, an air force general, a coastal development expert against any foreign navy assault, and an arms and ammo supplier who happens to be our president and social organizer non pareil.
Congrats to Roque who won the top raffle prize of an iPad, and to those who won MyPhones w/ TV, wine bottles, SBC umbrellas, etc. And kudos too to all those, led by Congressman Valencia, who danced Gangnam style with the ladies. Indeed, a roaring time was had by all.
I guess we all knew that by this weekend, the world begins anew. And that we will all be immortal, still singing Elvis while no pelvis ever leaves the building.
