Have violin, will camp

Playing the violin is very different as compared to playing the fool; unlike playing the fool, which is absurdly easy, comes naturally (to me at least) and has little or no rewards, playing the violin requires discipline, self-control, concentration, and it can get extremely frustrating at times. However, once mastered, you can reap the benefits of being a superb violinist. And when I mean practice, I mean practicing two hours a day, not just 20 minutes. Alas, I am more of the 20-minute bum than the two hour maestro. So what does one do when he can’t even drag himself out of bed to open his violin case? He goes to Casa San Miguel.

Casa San Miguel is a summer camp for musicians (boys and girls), who want to do nothing but play their instruments all day long. Or a place for people who would normally pretend to practice (like me), to have a chance to really practice hard. It currently opens for four weeks; you can choose how many weeks you want to stay so you don’t get burned out. I came for the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th weeks. Although, I almost didn’t make it.

I joined my fellow campers during their Subic stopover to watch a movie and have pizza for dinner. Then we went to Casa.

Our schedule went something like this:

6:30 wake up/do chores
7:00 breakfast
7:30 scale class
9:00 practice
9:50 break
10:00 practice
10:50 break
11:00 practice
12:00 lunch
1:00 arts
3:00 sports
5:00 ensemble
6:30 break
7:00 dinner
8:00 socials
10:30 lights out

All in all, we played the violin for six hours every day. One got demerits for not practicing or for misbehaving. For example, waking up late gave two demerits, being caught not practicing gave five, and sneaking into the girls dorm gave 10. For acquiring one to six demerits, you had to do 20 push-ups and 20 sit-ups; seven to 12 demerits, 30 push-ups 30 sit-ups, 13-18 demerits 40 push-ups 40 sit-ups, 19-24 demerits 50 push-ups 50 sit-ups, 25 demerits got you expelled. All demerits were erased at the end of the day. I must say, that during those three weeks that I was there I got quite a workout. Most of my demerits came from waking up late, forgetting to do my chores, and sleeping during practice hours. Week two passed without much incident. Week three, however, was much different. My dad decided that I was getting too many demerits and so suggested to Mr. Coke Bolipata (the camp director) a new punishment for demerits: The Naked Run. If you got 30 demerits or more, instead of being expelled you had to perform The Naked Run, which consisted of the criminal running around the fountain in Casa, only sans clothes. It sure worked, everyone started getting 50 percent less demerits than the previous week, excluding one immature 12 year old who got his 45 demerits for asking his fellow female campers, "are you wearing a bra?" then feeling their backs to see if they were wearing any. Sneaking into the girl’s dorm, and telling the 50-year-old cleaning lady "your boobs are lawlaw". Inevitably he subsequently performed The Naked Run. He became the laughingstock of the camp for the remainder of his stay. But that wasn’t all. Mr. Bolipata also signed a contract with some movie people who immediately started filming the movie Kulimlim starring Robin Padilla and Tanya Garcia. One of my friends developed a crush on one of the supporting actresses, age 13. He brought a video cam along with him to camp, and had his own little private shoot. He was so inconspicuous while he was filming, the girl didn’t notice a thing.

But the movie disrupted our practice schedule. We were ordered to keep quiet and to put our violins down whenever they where shooting a take. And since the entire movie was more or less filmed at Casa, that was almost all the time.

Mr. Bolipata later mentioned to me that he regretted ever signing that piece of paper. It allowed the movie people, in the words of one of my fellow campers, "to desecrate this cultural center and turn it into nothing better than an asylum of jologs squatters." Not that I have anything against squatters, it was my friend who said that. Even then, his words had some truth. In direct violation of the contract, the crew was smoking, littering, loitering and abusing the facilities intended for us campers (namely, the CR). It didn’t help bitching about our situation, so all we could do was sit tight and hope for the best.

Socials were my favorite time of the day, because they were the time to sit back, relax, chat, and play card games such as bluff, slapjack, and pusoy-dos with the girls. It also gave us a chance to release the tension we got from playing the violin for six hours every day. There was one time, however, we were caught playing cards when we were supposed to be practicing on the day of the recital and Mr. Bolipata blew his top. He almost knocked himself out in the process of biting our heads off. All we could do was flee to the safety of our respective dormitories.

Later that day was our recital. I had been diligently practicing my piece all week long and I had it memorized to perfection. However, no matter how many times I had rehearsed it, when I walked onto the stage I couldn’t dispel the nervousness I felt within me. Now I’m not like other people, who freeze and start shaking when they feel the slightest bit of stage fright. Instead of becoming a statue, I act like nothing is wrong and that I actually am having a fun time when in reality inside I am already crumbling to pieces. My father called it the incarnation of Charlie Chaplin. That is what happened. I put on the pretense that I had everything under control – in comic manner. It went fine until I had my first memory block. I had a second and a third, but the first came in the middle of the piece. I had to stop, think, and play again. Then I had my second memory block. It came around the same part to the piece as the first. I had to go over to the pianist and check the notes with her. Even after that, when I got to that section again I forgot it yet another time. That was my third and last memory block. Mr. Bolipata, watching from the audience, saw my predicament and immediately borrowed the nearest violin and assisted me through that troublesome part. After the memory blocks, I was fine. I finished the piece, apologized profusely to the highly entertained audience, and fled the stage. Everyone was telling me things like, "Nice one, Paolo. Next time go to Trumpets" or "Your show was hilarious" and "I can see now why the violin is so difficult. It’s not really the playing but rather the covering up."

It wasn’t as bad as I initially thought it to be. Everyone had a good laugh before going home. And my fellow campers never knew before how many facial expressions can be made when a fool pretends to play the violin in front of a crowd. It was the talk of the night.

After the recital we went to the farm of one of the campers, which was in Iba, a good two-hour car ride from Casa. We slept over, swam in the river, played basketball, did some archery, and went to Times Square in Subic the following day. We then followed our usual routine of watching a movie (I think it was The Day After Tomorrow) and having pizza for dinner. One of my fellow campers who is of the Adventist religion was banned from doing normal, every day things like watching movies and eating pork or beef as part of his religion. Well, he insisted he didn’t want to watch the movie and would hang out in the video arcade. But sir Coke didn’t like the idea of him being alone. He’s just a small kid, you see. So I had to convince him it was perfectly fine to watch a movie once, as long as it was just this time. Besides, I told him, you can’t stay in the arcade all by yourself for two hours. He said even once is bad, because he might get used to it and want to watch another movie next Sunday when we came back here. I had to remind him that next Sunday was the last recital of the summer camp and this was the last movie he was going to watch. So he finally consented.

A few days later, people started burning out and developing stomachaches, headaches, and fevers. See? Too much of a good thing (violin) is bad. Among those who were struck down by this malady was my Adventist friend and I. He said God was taking retribution upon our souls. He should know. He not only got a fever, he got LBM as well.

While I was fortunate not to acquire that dreadful affliction, I am still a human being, and so also subject to the calls of nature. I was getting pissed off at the frickers who left the toilet seat down while they were pissing, because when I had to take a shit I had to mop off the entire mess with tissue paper and rinse the seat with disinfectant before I even dared to sit down. I could tolerate it no more. I created an "out of order" sign and put it on the closed lid of the toilet. For a few days, it was mine. Alone. And it was the only one with a light and a lock in it. No one knew the better.

But my poor Adventist friend not only had a raging fever, splitting headaches and acute LBM, he also had to barf every 30 minutes or so. One afternoon when the need was particularly great, he rushed to the toilet, saw the out of order sign, couldn’t hold it, and puked in the sink. The sink clogged. Our toilet had a dim light, so the first person who walked in to brush his teeth at the sink had a nasty shock. He thought someone had crapped in the sink. He was so traumatized; he went straight to Mr. Bolipata, who immediately assumed it was one of those filthy movie crewmen and complained to the production manager. He was about to finish his sad tale when my Adventist friend came up to him and said that he was sorry he barfed in the sink, it was because he thought the toilet was out of order. Poor Mr. Bolipata had to profusely apologize to the irritated production manager and how he was so sorry that he had jumped to conclusions. He shouldn’t have immediately thought the worst, and so forth and so on. The toilet was checked, it was in working condition, the misleading sign was removed, and things went back to normal.

A few days before the recital, I too got a headache and a fever. I was not able to play in the recital, and I left before it ended. My fellow campers must have wondered why I left without saying farewell, but the reason is this: I’m a sentimental sort of chap, and even if it doesn’t show on the outside, it hurts deep down. But for all those campers, teachers, and especially Mr. Bolipata, who may be reading these last few lines, I must say I thoroughly enjoyed your company over those three weeks that I was there, and that it was a good experience that any budding violinist should try.

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You can email me at: ifyoudonteatyoulldie@yahoo.com