avocado life

Just another day, today

2011-10-22T10:13:00.015+08:00

Note: While de-cluttering, I found a piece of paper with this written on it. I wrote this in 1995 -- a sort of journal entry and a snippet of how I was back then. My maternal grandmother, Lola Auring who features in the post, died in 1999. My father suffered a stroke in 2000 from which he recovered and a second massive one a year later. Half of his body is paralyzed and he is bedridden now.

Just Another Day, Today
Kyn H. Firmalino
November 1995

Specks of dust swirl with bright yellow light streaming in shafts through the window of our dining room. On a mid-November morning, it hardly rains. I can see the sky is clear, light blue interspersed with puffs of cotton candy-like white clouds.

Maya capras, those house wrens, incessantly chirp in crescendos while perched on the branches of our kamias tree outside. Some have dried grass straws in their beaks as one by one they fly to a corner of our window's awning. To the right side of our front yard, one sturdy coconut palm has grown tall. In the fourteen years we have been living here, its gait has slightly leaned with the elements.

Lola Auring, my grandmother, is calling me now. She always does at around this time. It is just past seven and she invites me to breakfast. My mother has just walked in from our kitchen. She also calls my attention as we both settle in our seats.

With us in the dining table are my six year old nephew, Oweng, and my five year old niece, Justyne. At around this time, my sister and my brother-in-law have already gone and are approximately halfway to where they work. My father, who retired from a long corporate career five years ago, has yet to return from his daily tennis tourneys with his neighborhood kumpares at our subdivision's sports center.

As it is typical in our traditional society, I live in an extended family. My elder sister and her family lives with us. My maternal grandmother also does. My mother's father died thirteen years ago.

Just now, my niece Justyne is asking me if the mayas always build their nests at this time of year. I can only answer, "I guess so but I'm not sure." Oweng, on the other hand, is being reprimanded by my mother for only eating pan de sal when there was rice and fried fish. She was telling him that he might get hungry before their mid-morning break at school. He answers back with, "Di ba sabi ni Jesus eat your bread araw-araw?" ("Didn't Jesus say to eat your bread everyday?") My mother and I look at each other while trying to suppress laughter as she gropes to explain to this six year old nephew of mine the difference between the Christian concepts of the spiritual and the material bread.

At quarter to eight, I am walking at the street in front of our house. Being connected with an applied linguistics services outfit, I do not have any regular working hours. What I do have is an output deadline. This suits me fine as I am able to do most of my work at home. Today, I am going to deliver the translations ordered by a client.

With his horn honking tutot, tutot the taho vendor passes me by while balancing on his shoulders two stainless steel vats hanging from each end of a thin bamboo rod. A small kid is waiting for him at the street's end. Two teenage boys in worn out shirts, shorts and rubber slippers are pushing a wooden cart. They shout, "Bote, dyaryo, garapa!" -- bottles, old newspapers, metal scraps -- enterprising young boys in the buy and sell business.

I remember my friend Juvy. We have spent countless conversations on the difficulty of earning a living here in our country and the hows and whys of many Filipinos who opt to seek financial remuneration elsewhere. She is now in South Korea. Ironic about the situation is, although she works there to earn so she can live a relatively happy life, she constantly feels sad in yearning to come back home.

I am now facing the main thoroughfare in our village. From where I am standing, I can see the thin film of smog hanging over where Manila is to the south of this suburb where we live. And so, while I am waiting for my jeepney ride by this curbside, I begin to think. Life here is hard, as it probably is elsewhere. But we make do with what we have. And although I barely have enough in my wallet even for my jeepney fare, I still have my family, my friends and myself. For those things that matter most in my life, these are more than enough.

Hi, World!

2011-04-18T01:25:00.004+08:00

Hi, Blogosphere! I'm still here.

To someone somewhere in Virginia or in that vicinity

2010-02-27T22:53:00.030+08:00

I admit, I've searched your name in Facebook and visited your page. I've read your posts in anonymity hoping that I might have been remembered in some way. But your words and the spaces between them escape even one nuance to reference the fact that we were once friends. Your words only reflect a life devoid of our shared past.

I admit, I've been missing you since the last time I heard your voice at the end of the receiver excusing yourself not only from the call I made but from whatever connection we had. I admit, even if you call me an ass or a jerk, I would still consider you a friend. Even if you never really told me why after 15 years I suddenly wasn't yours, I would still consider you a friend.

But now I have to burn my end of our bridge with regret as I think it doesn't connect to anywhere anymore, although it can still be rebuilt. One of these days I might just get the urge to initiate contact once more since you really haven't. For now, my pride has taken over the driver's seat. It's off to a direction not unlike yours -- it's on its way directly opposite yours. But who knows, we still share the same friends. There's every likelihood that our paths will cross. If that happens, I'd go by feel and decide what to do right there and then. You see, despite my pride, I can never reject you as a friend. The most I can do is to archive you to memory.

From KABLAGged to KABOOMed!

2009-06-05T16:55:00.012+08:00

For a while there, I and the mundane yet necessary things to do in life had a falling out of sorts. The indifference between us would have been just fine with me since I would rather have wanted to spend time on an extended vacation anyway. However, the last ATM I visited had started to bleep insufficient funds. This thoroughly snipped my mercurial wings and sent me crashing to the ground at that very instant. Now I'm wishing I had the unlimited resources so I would have the power to choose what I want to do rather than be encumbered by an endless checklist of what I must do. To LIFE who has put me in this circumstance, albeit a fluke (or is it all ME as the master of my own destiny?), touché to YOU (or to ME)!

On to a more colorful note, that last Baguio trip was, for the lack of a better descriptive term, "epic." We left early morning of Friday (29th May). It was raining halfway through the trip. By the time we were in the outskirts of the city, a thick blanket of fog was rolling in on us. But everybody was in high spirits. For crying out loud, we were laughing at even the most asinine of retorts. Well, the tears came a bit later after a clandestine escape at midnight in the falling rain and images of a dark, foggy winding road. Whodunnit? I'd rather not recycle the details of this story. As a very good friend said, this episode is better left DELETED. But for all its worth, and speaking among close friends who are privy to the facts, that was EPIC indeed! Let's do it again! I'm such a drama whore. Hahahaha... And, why not? That definitely spiced up our everyday lives. D'accord – Ach so? Notwithstanding, I so LOVE everyone of you guys!

The KABOOM part happened when we returned to Manila and at the very eve of my birthday, mind you. As this is an open secret to my clique of university and extended friends, all I can say is, para sa akin, it was a bonggang bonggang masigabong salubong of my birthday courtesy of my ever-caring and loving sistaz. Thank you one and all! Happy birthday to me...(and dare I say...) KABOOM! There it goes and yun lang po.

To be godded over and still dawdling

2008-10-30T16:51:00.014+08:00

30-Oct-2008, 4:52 PM

I finally found room for a breather and what better way to dawdle in it than to take on a point of passion, which is also my point of refuge. Writing is the eye of the storm around me. It calms and soothes me while ironically it also tides over the recharging of creative impulses.

It has been three months since I last wrote in this blog. Much of the reason for my absence of entries is rooted on earning an income. I, like I guess most of us, am godded over by the demand-economics of living. Work for me is a non-issue. I never considered graphic design as work because whatever requirements a client may have, I am but happy and willing to oblige. After all, it is one of my points of passion but only coming in at a very close second to writing. So, I am more inclined to think of graphic design as my income-generating skill and the entailing process as more of creative play than work.

Having said that, this is a snapshot of my schedule for the past week and from hereon in: Syngenta – packaging & brochures; Croma Medic/ Bausch & Lomb/ Santen/ Thea/ Kimia Pharma – various collaterals & creatives; Cathay Pacific – Marco Polo Club Qtr. 4 country update & 2009 table planner; Eventking – Dinos Alive! Manila banners, streamers & photo op standee; Eventking & Smart Communications – Smart Buddy Pacquiao - De La Hoya creatives & collaterals; and a variety of small projects in between.

Lately, I have been fascinated by oriental iconography. This is due in part to one of my favorite Korean dramas, The Great King Sejong, on KBS World (check their website for local schedule listings). I’m so caught by the Korean Hallyu (Wave). So, inspired by the traditional art of the Joseon dynasty, I rendered illustrations of stylized clouds and waves that I applied as textural background on the design studies I made for Cathay Pacific’s 2009 table planner.

Stylized oriental clouds graphic illustration by Kyn H. Firmalino © 2008.

Stylized oriental waves graphic illustration by Kyn H. Firmalino © 2008.

Which reminds me, Ms. Anna and Ms. Lynette, I’m working on the artworks & layout and I’ll be sending them to you for review shortly.

And now, it’s nearly time for me to return to the drawing board. In the meantime, I leave you Foals and Pizzicato Five (P5). They are on continuous shuffle in my computer’s player at the moment and they keep me good company. Olympic Airways is from the Foals’ debut album, Antidotes. This freshman album of the Brit lads from Oxford was released just this March.

Olympic Airways - Foals

On the other hand, P5 has been in the Shibuya sugar-pop scene since the early 1990s. The track here, called Baby Love Child, was released in 1994. Both are part of my soundtracks to life. Take a listen and you’ll understand why.

Baby Love Child - Pizzicato Five

P.S.: Thanks to the great writer from Stratford-upon-Avon for coining “godded” hence entering the term in our literary lexicon. Regarding “Writing on Furlough Redux (once more),” I was planning to place a scan of Turkish Afterthoughts in here but I have lost my copy. I have yet to go to the journals & serials archive section of the National Library along T. M. Kalaw to get me another copy. Yes, I know, imagine the thought of trudging to a dingy mezzanine on the 3rd or 4th floor and searching hardbound yet threadbare serials on rickety shelves while barely-concerned, barely-there librarians chatter away. I love it! For all its state of disrepair, you’ve got to hand it to our National Library. It’s got character. This sentiment is selfish, and I digress a bit, but I hope that place doesn’t change. So, I’ll write the entry for the “Redux 2” as soon as I have the copy in hand. Happy returns to all and live well. Now, scoot back to your drawing boards!

On rainy days, it's best to have Erlend Øye on hand

2008-08-01T19:52:00.020+08:00

There's a lot to say about weather and moods. It's been raining for the past few days and I can't shake off moments of wistfulness. I thought, I might as well go with the flow and put Erlend Øye on my player.

I've always loved Øye's works. The lyrical tone of his vocals reminds me of two other favorites, Tracey Thorn of Everything But The Girl (EBTG, with Ben Watt) and Mutya Buena. The simplicity in vocal composition and delivery pierces the soul then lifts it to heights of insights about your life.

The track in this post is from his 2006 side-project with The Whitest Boy Alive. I'm presupposing that his main band is Kings of Convenience with Eirik Bøe.

Listen to the Golden Cage. It's one of my favorite tracks in their Dreams album.

Then listen to this remix by DJ Fred Falke. It's as brilliant as the original. Falke took the opening chords and turned them into a hook that he looped into parts of this wonderful electronica-synth remix while seamlessly keeping the clear lyrical tone of Øye's vocals in the original.

On rainy days, I'd rather just curl up in bed and listen to Erlend Øye singing.

Work + Persephone's Bees = OTJ* Electropop Discofunk Fun

2008-07-31T21:30:00.013+08:00

My work:

My soundtrack:

_______________
*on the job (OTJ)

P.S.: Writing on furlough redux once more, to follow soon.

Dancing to Øye and Bøe

2008-07-28T02:43:00.015+08:00

Alone in my room at night with earphones on, I dance.

Life is tough but it is sweet. Obstacles may hinder my pace and push me offtrack at times but in moments like these, I turn to my soundtracks to life and dance.

Kings of Convenience, thanks for getting me back in groove.

Writing on furlough redux

2008-07-15T21:13:00.018+08:00

So, recommencing on the last point in my previous post, these people are some of my creative writing heroes. With other icons in other genres of fiction that run the gamut from Saul Bellow, Chaim Potok, Ernest Hemingway, Isabel Allende to Edgar Allan Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Anatole France, Thomas Hardy, Jane Austen and so much more, their works are my points of inspiration.

As a matter of self promotion, I too have been published for fiction and poetry – four times so far, twice for short story and the same number for poetry. Reading my very first foray onto printed text now is quite embarrassing. It was a poem entitled “Children of the Streets” and I think I was lucky it was published by the Philippines Free Press, a national weekly news magazine. I was paid something like Php400 for it, which was a considerable amount at that time. That was 1990. My thoughts on the poem now is that it is sophomoric, to say the least.

My second published piece was a short story entitled “Small Talk,” which also appeared in the Philippines Free Press, in its June 24, 1995 issue. This was when I discovered that I enjoyed writing narratives, weaving imagery and mixing metaphors. Here are some excerpts from “Small Talk”:

Shafts of light had drawn shadows of leaves on the asphalt road of that single strip of parking lot fringed by trees on opposite sides. A wind blew just then and brought a leaf storm of sorts as leaf after leaf fell and hurtled on the coarse surface of the road like being swept by an invisible broom…

…So, it was nearly evening when we left that room but we did not notice the time or that we had already come out of the building. Neither did we notice how many people there were, as there were many, waiting for a jeepney ride under the shed in front of the Faculty Center. We all but forgot the traffic at Philcoa or the roads outside the university. We only noticed the play of twilight in hues of glowing yellows, orange and light reds streaming through the canopies of a hundred little round leaves of the big acacia trees that lined the asphalt road of the avenue we faced while we lightly tossed around pleasant small talk between snatches of silence.

And so we left the university sometime between the warm fading lights of dusk and the swift procession of nightfall, a bit happy with each other and a bit contented with ourselves and, assessing it now from memory, a bit wiser.

The third one was a poem whose authorship I am proud to stake claim. I think poetry suits my writing as well because of my love for the alchemy of imagery and metaphors but constrained in a limited and precise lexicon.

This one I entitled “Turkish Afterthoughts.” No, I haven’t been to that part of the world. I wrote the poem after a friend traveled to Turkey for a vacation. We met for some coffee and tea when she got back. That’s when I heard her stories of that land straddling Europe and ancient Asia Minor. Her photo album helped too. I was able to write the poem in its published form in one sitting that night after we met.

(I have to take a break here again. Money beckons, I must comply. For my worth to subsist, I must not resist. With these words I momentarily leave you but I reckon, another redux of this topic is in order and will be in the works. I bid you adieu for now until my digits pound on the keys once more. Until then, dream and live the dream. Life is short. We must optimize living it while we are afforded the chance to do so. Albeit a cliché, this caveat is still a universal truth. Live well.)

Writing on furlough

2008-07-14T14:44:00.008+08:00

Seven months hence, I finally brought myself to write again. Of all my life’s activities so far, I have a passion for two things. The second is graphic design. The first is writing.

I’ve realized this early on but I find myself preoccupied in earning my keep by way of my second passion. I’ve found a small but steady market for my talent in this that has kept me financially afloat. This affords me to buy my bread, and butter it as well.

On the other hand, my first love and passion has a huge market but with an equally enormous supply of talent. As in any industry, monetary returns are high for established writers regardless of the degree of talent. Lesser mortals in this universe of the written text must content themselves with the dregs.

This is more evident in my chosen genre – fiction. In recent memory, I’d consider JK Rowling as the most elite among those in the top tier. Although I considerably doubt any superlative adoration for her talent, I do like the tale and the characters she wove in her Harry Potter series. Albeit fiction with a hodgepodge of rehashed themes, I cannot deny that they are an engaging read. They have moments or sparks of creativity here and there. My only point is that she found a market and her niche, and built an empire. If it pleases her, she could now very well afford to hone her talent into a higher degree of skill.

If talent in creative writing is to be the basis then Gabriel Garcia Marquez, for one, would be leagues apart. His brilliance and stroke of genius has been defined by his singular commitment of magic realism to text in our day and age. This sublime marriage of the supernatural and fantastic with the mundane has not been etched in our literary consciousness since our ancestors earlier on recited and then later on read our folklores, myths, legends and epics.

Next on my list of modern fiction icons is JRR Tolkein for creating Middle Earth and commencing my ongoing amazement with fantasy. Then there is Stephen Donaldson for weaving text to craft Thomas Covenant. Orson Scott Card is at par for Alvin Maker and also for extending his reach to science fiction bringing Ender to word and hence to life. Of note in my list is Anne McCaffrey for transporting me to Pern and other planet types and, like Card, for introducing countless possibilities in and between fantasy and sci-fi writing.

(I have to take a client’s call. Please hold this point for a moment. I’ll resume in part 2 of this post.)

Pinoy Chick Soundtrack to Fall in Love with: Imago's "Sundô"

2007-12-13T02:16:00.006+08:00

Lyrics, pure poetry. Melody, utterly haunting. The song made my soul, the core of my being soar. As an OPM (original pinoy music) chick soundtrack, this is sublime in its composition and in its rendering. This is totally brilliant.

The opening stanza goes, "Kay tagal kong sinusuyod ang buong mundo para hanapin, para hanapin ka. Nilibot ang distrito ng iyong lumbay; pupulutin, pupulutin ka. Sinusundo kita, sinusundô..." Roughly translated it goes, "For a long time, I've combed the whole world to look for, to look for you. I've circled the vicinity of your sadness; I'll pick up, I'll pick you up. I'm getting hold of you, I'm getting hold..."

Then the chorus kicks in, "Asahan mo mula ngayon pag-ibig ko'y sa 'yo." "Be assured that from now on my love belongs to you."

The rest of the lyrics have the same, pardon the rotundity, lyrical quality as these lines. The imagery, the metaphors are breathtaking. The music itself is moving.

I've got the song on repeat in my computer's player for quite some time now. This has been my secret aural pleasure, until now.

Chic Brit Chick Soundtracks

2007-12-10T18:51:00.008+08:00

These tracks are perfect for cruising or walking around the city, provided that the path you're on is not choked by car exhaust.

The first one is from KT Tunstall. "Suddenly I See" was released in 2005 and was a soundtrack in the movie "The Devil wears Prada."

The other one is from Gabrielle. "Sunshine" was released way back 1999.

The Time I Fell in Love with an Animate Biped

2007-11-29T12:59:00.002+08:00

I most certainly did.

It was 1997. We met at the university in Diliman. He was a foreign student who was fluent in Tagalog. We were taking the same course. I was a student assistant in our department. We often met but in hindsight, our meetings were casual and friendly really. I read too much on things that were in fact random.

I fell for him. He never even thought of going there. I didn’t see that. I was sideswiped and blinded by craziness. There came a point when I was so consumed by my idea of love that I had to tell him. So I dragged along my very good friend Sheila and sought him at his dorm. Sheila knew I was crazy in love with the boy. She didn’t know I was about to tell him.

When we got there, he was gracious enough to entertain us. We talked about stuff then Sheila saw a friend of hers and excused herself. I didn’t need to muster courage. When you are overcome by craziness, bravery has no meaning. So, I told him in an offhand way. I said, “You know I have a problem. You are my problem. I’m in love with you.”

He was taken aback. Who wouldn’t be? I can still remember the daze in his eyes as he took his time to articulate, “I’m sorry Kyn. What can I do? I’m not gay.”

Now, upon hearing this, it was my turn to be stunned. The only thing I can say was, “May yosi ka?” to which he responded in the negative. So I said, “Bili muna ako ng yosi” while in my head Alanis was singing, “Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think?” as a soundtrack to my disillusionment.

I later found out from Sheila that when she went back to where he was and asked where I was, to which he replied I bought some cigarettes, he then pensively said, “Makulay ang buhay niya.” Come to think of it, this comment is still an enigma to me. He might be referring to my being gay with an analogy to the internationally recognized iconic rainbow symbol of gayhood-ness. That’s the only way I can decipher that.

So, I crashed and burned. I kept my distance. I left the university the following year to work. Since then, I have never seen him again. But Sheila has in Hawaii a few years back. She said he asked how I was. When I heard this I thought, except for I was fine, I pretty much didn’t know what else to respond. At that time, I already did not think much of it anyway.

The conventional wisdom is time heals. It does not. Time only passes. That’s what it does. What happens is, as time moves along, we learn to accept after the fact. In my case, this came about, give-and-take, 3 years on.

If he ever happens to stumble on this blog and read this entry, this is what I want to say to him: To you know who you are, I’m so sorry for my craziness. I blame it on hotwired neurotransmitters. Damn adrenaline, dopamine and serotonin! My deepest apologies for all the discomfort, inconvenience and anxiety I have caused.

As for my telling of this incident in my life, and in the public domain at that, all I can say is that the time for me is right to recount this experience in this medium. My intuition says it feels right and when it does, I learn a little bit more about courage.

P.S.: And to those who lent me their courage at the time when I was down and out and drowning in misery, my friends Sheila, Rachel, Tess, Tita Fe, Tina and Joe and to all my other university and extended friends, Gerry, Butch, Doris, Gisella, Julius, Oye, Paeng, Marky, thank you. All of you are true. I’ve been remiss as a friend in more ways than one. For one, I haven’t had you feel my presence for some time now but be assured that I still remain true to you. For me, you are still the family that I have bonded with by choice. Let this be a testament to my continuing covenant to our friendship despite distance in all its forms. Thank you so much for the bond you extended to me. It is treasured and will be until my very dissolution.

Finding Trochenbrod

2007-11-23T16:01:00.003+08:00

I found Trochenbrod through film.

Trochenbrod was a Jewish shtetl (village) in western Ukraine. When the Nazis occupied Ukraine in World War II, they made Trochenbrod a ghetto and brought in Jews from surrounding towns and villages. The genocide happened in August and September of 1942.

For the fictional Trachimbrod, we fast forward to 2002. Jonathan Safran Foer launches his debut novel, “Everything Is Illuminated.” The blurb from Harper Collins reads, “With only a yellowing photograph in hand, a young man -- also named Jonathan Safran Foer -- sets out to find the woman who may or may not have saved his grandfather from the Nazis. Accompanied by an old man haunted by memories of the war; an amorous dog named Sammy Davis, Junior, Junior; and the unforgettable Alex, a young Ukrainian translator who speaks in a sublimely butchered English, Jonathan is led on a quixotic journey over a devastated landscape and into an unexpected past.”

The novel was acclaimed by most critics and became a bestseller. I have yet to read the book but I have seen the 2005 film rendition. The story, as told in the film, is beautiful. It is unassuming, sublime, brilliant. If it is any indication of what the text is, then I would most likely agree with the critical literary lot.

I consider artistic works as gems when I am stirred to feel anything or even everything in the gamut of feelings, whether it be empathy with the author or with the characters in joy, sadness, anger and/ or any other emotion. In following the cinematic plot, I felt a lightness of being which is like the headiness you feel when in love or in orgasm or even in something as base as a nicotine fix. I laughed, I smiled, I was excited both in wonder and in fear, and I cried in searching for Trachimbrod.

The film had me vicariously reliving the stories of and with the characters. I believe these stories are parallel to lives in the shtetl of the real Trochenbrod. It is through this that everything is illuminated to me. As what Milan Kundera wrote and from where Foer, as I understand, took his novel’s title, “In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine."

Of Flip Flops, Carpentry, and other Graphic Design Challenges

2007-11-23T15:51:00.001+08:00

One of my favorite challenges is for producing these flip flop designs.

And I have dabbled in carpentry too. Here are perspective drafts of installations for a LEGO® Racers event.

(Click on the images for a detailed view.)

Graphic Design Hits… and misses? (ver. 2)

2007-11-19T17:53:00.002+08:00

Here’s another installment of graphic design studies. The first one is a floral designed paper placemat I did for Barbara’s Catering early this year. This one’s a hit but after 3 misses. I love the monochromatic bougainvillea illustration I did for them. By the way, I’m using Adobe Illustrator in rendering vector designs, as in this floral rendition. I use Adobe Photoshop for bicubic images.

Just today, I finished a job order for LEGO® which was an instant hit, that is, 1 approved study out of 1 although technically I’m still awaiting the go signal of another principal out of the 2 clients in this project. This one’s a poster and it’s for a promotional event coming very soon.

Now, LEGO® I truly love. This Danish toy maker is in my inspiration board for being the most innovative in producing toys for creative play. In my opinion, the classic bricks are a legacy and will always be my favorite.

Graphic Design Hits… and misses (ver. 1)

2007-11-17T05:32:00.001+08:00

Like in any endeavor, rejection is an integral part in my line of work. For every design study approved by a client, about 2 or 3 others are rejected. And it doesn’t end there. For the chosen design, a long process of revisions and amendments are to be expected. So an instant hit for me is like being sun-kissed on a clear day with its vivid cerulean sky and the crisp, cool morning breeze on my face.

Suffice it to say that instant hits for me are few and too far in between. This however has greatly helped me to hone skills in my chosen craft. In my thinking, if I only turned out hits, then I would have nothing else to learn and I would have deluded myself to stagnation. So as it stands and as the course of life goes, from design conceptualization to rendition, the work is long and the details are varied and many and I love it. I believe that extensive progression is a fact of the creative process. After all, our universe was created by countless forces and a confluence of innumerable factors in the span of billions of years to what it is now, and it's still a work in progress.

Moving on, I’ve been doing graphic design and lay out jobs for Cathay Pacific – Philippines since 2003. I regularly do their Marco Polo Club country update, a newsletter leaf included in the quarterly magazine. I have my share of hits and misses with them but overall, what I appreciate most is the process.

A hit. They loved the road signs. (Click on the image for a larger view.)

My most recent instant hit came from a logo design I did for SMART Communications and IMG (International Management Group) Philippines. This one is for the 2007-2008 SMART - PBA (Philippine Basketball Association) Philippine Cup.

An instant hit. The design notes help convey the process of conceptualization to the client. This highlights the fact that all elements in a graphic design are consciously and conscientiously created and placed, and not just done by accident. A word on writing design notes: concise. (Click on the image for a larger view.)

Googling and then "Yahooing" Myself

2007-04-18T18:43:00.006+08:00

Talk of an ego that needs to be sated, I spent this afternoon googling myself.

I found my name at the usual places, referenced at this blog site and at youtube where I uploaded videos of some of my graphic design works. A new blog entry caught my attention (oh yes, I google myself that often). One of my videos from youtube had been embedded in its site.

Tedigi1 is a blog of modular graphic design lessons in Spanish. This got me über excited. Their topic this week is commercial packaging and they featured the video of my packaging designs for La Luisa, Inc.

Here’s the video:

For someone who totally loves and takes pride in his work, and has a huge ego to boot, this calls for a booming, “YAHOO!” What d’ya think? Oh, what the heck! Thanks to Google and Blogger but here I go again, “YAHOO!”

P.S. While I’m at it, you might want to visit

my youtube channel

By the way, I just found out that tedigi1 is the blog of Prof. Rita Hercilia Araujo de Meléndez for her class in Digital Technology and Graphic Design at the Universidad Tecnológica de El Salvador (UTEC) in San Salvador. Thank you, Prof. Araujo, for noticing my work.

In Need of Batting an Eyelid

2007-03-28T09:31:00.002+08:00

Whew! This is turning out to be a hectic and toxic week for me. And it's just Wednesday!

I've been busy since the start of the week juggling three projects, all with tight deadlines. As far as graphic design is concerned, I'm unperturbed by clients' requirements. The more gritty the details, the more nitty the end-product I want. Come to think of it, wouldn't that be the perfect "perfectionist's creed"?

Wait a minute! Me, a perfectionist? A definite, unequivocal no to that. As the word implies, perfection is humanly unattainable. And unless I somehow become the Judeo-Christian God,* I won’t be a nut trying to achieve what is impossible.

However, I do aspire for the best. To me, this is the most positive motivation of human endeavors. At work, it indicates taking pride in your craft. In life, it signifies self-value.

So, what’s the deal with the bad rep of perfectionists? Because, it’s all pretension and/ or self-delusion, or just plain, old obsessive-compulsive disorder. This is why I will never be a perfectionist. And even if I were, knowing fully well what it means, I wouldn’t self-confess.

I often hear people justify their assessment of a work with, “Well, I’m just a perfectionist.” Hey, hoe, what d’ya know?! Crazy nut! Get some balls and review works with your brain. The humanity! What a waste of analytical juices! Don’t you just get ticked off by people like that?

So now, I have batted an eyelid! I guess it’s just the infernal weather. The temperature has tipped 35° C in Metro Manila the past 2 days. It may also be because of the heavy workload. Now, I’m rationalizing. The fact is I’m human. I feel. I react. Sometimes, I’m calm and unaffected. Sometimes, I get irked. And just now, I needed to bat an eyelid.

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*I’ve singled out Judeo-Christian because of all the religious belief systems, its concept of God is perfection. Others have deities that are far from perfect but rather are capable of both good and evil with emphasis on attaining a harmonious balance.

Important Trivial Pursuits

2007-03-26T23:42:00.009+08:00

Now, that’s an oxymoron.

I’ve got this new hobby of checking out references in pop culture. How can I not? The wiki age has made it so convenient. And I am astonished by the number of contributors. There are a lot of people who expend time and effort to compile them.

So, the question begs to be asked, “How important are trivial pursuits?” I say, in the case of culture, there are no trivial pursuits. There is trivia (read: details), and the devil is in it.

Picking up on a statement I wrote in my last post regarding the development of culture in the evolution of modern man, human activities that are not primarily rooted on survival instincts are distinctly what make us human. Without writing this blog, I will still live. However, writing gives me a sense of satisfaction. And knowing that I am being read doubles the pleasure. We, as a species, have a sense of ourselves and, collectively, we reflect this through our cultures.

Like any social construct, culture does not exist in a vacuum. What came before is associated with what is being thought and done now. Culture evolves and referencing is one process in defining its form over time. So, before this blog becomes a pedagogical discourse, let me share with you how I became interested in references to and within pop culture.

My nephews, Oweng (17 yrs. old) and Yves (12), and my niece, Justyne (16), have been fans of The Simpsons for most of their formative years. I usually watch it with them. Once, when I told them that the show was three years older than Oweng, they were amazed.

The animated show is so much a part of their lives that all three do pretty good impressions of the characters. They are able to seamlessly use them in social interactions together with their impressions of Spongebob, Patrick Star, Squidward, and a host of other movie, cartoon and anime characters.

This to me is in itself a form of referencing and, aside from being amused, I find it a very clever way of communicating. To be able to appropriately incorporate impressions in a regular conversation takes wit and a very good grasp of the dynamics in gab. A good example of someone who has somehow perfected this competence is Robin Williams, although I do find him annoying at times when he overdoes it.

Anyway, back to The Simpsons, there was this episode where Homer got loaded on medically regulated pot (“Weekend at Burnsie’s,” season 13, episode 16). In one of the scenes where he was stoned, the 2-D animation took on a 60s hippie, technicolor and psychedelic vibe while some mood music played. The tune sounded familiar. The lyrics seemed foreign except for the last line. What I heard was, “Color sky hav a na lek, Color sky ros cal methene, Alles arian crimson, Wear your love like heaven." I told Oweng that I had heard this song before. He thought it was purposely made for the scene. No, I said, it was a proper tune.

In fact, I liked the song so much that I had to search for it on the net. I knew I heard it before in a streaming video of a Monique Lhuillier runway show. I replayed the video and true enough, it was there. I still had no idea of its title, artist or lyrics. I searched for the Simpsons’ episode on wikipedia and there it was. The site listed all the cultural references in the show including the soundtracks used.

The song’s title is… surprise, surprise… “Wear Your Love Like Heaven.” It was written by Brit artist Donovan Leitch who also did “Mellow Yellow.” It was released in 1967. As for the weird lyrics, apparently Leitch was known for his whimsical songwriting. And being an artist in the 60s, who can blame him?

All the layers of references in that Simpsons’ episode now made sense to me. From the use of “Burnsie’s” in the title, to the psychedelic animation and to soundtrack choice, how clever, Matt Groening!

So, this was how I got hooked on this hobby. And here’s what I have so far on Donovan Leitch’s “Wear Your Love Like Heaven."

The unintelligible lyrics I was telling you about, they are in fact legitimate English words of oil paint colors strung by Mr. Leitch, perhaps when he himself was stoned. But of course, the last point is just pure speculation. It goes, "Color sky havana lake, Color sky rose carmethene, Alizarian crimson, Wear your love like heaven..." and that plays while Homer prances in 2-D technicolor, psychedelic trance (The Simpsons S13, Ep16, “Weekend at Burnsie’s”).

“Color in sky prussian blue, Scarlet fleece changes hue, Crimson ball sinks from view…” Sarah McLachlan sings her 1992 remake of the 1967 Donovan Leitch tune, “Wear Your Love Like Heaven” (From Sarah McLachlan’s Solace album).

“Can I believe what I see, All I have wished for will be, All our race proud and free...” Donovan Leitch's "Wear Your Love Like Heaven" plays as models glide down the runway in Monique Lhuillier's Spring 2006 Bridal Collection.

Survivor: “Out of Africa” edition

2007-03-25T20:57:00.003+08:00

Last night, I watched a National Geographic special on how some Homo erectus group may have developed into Homo sapiens somewhere in Africa (“Ultimate Survivor: Mystery of Us.” Check regional NatGeo channel sites for program listings). The show presented compelling evidence to support the idea that modern man started to evolve and develop as a distinct species in that continent.

Now, imagine this scenario: a coastline cave-dwelling Homo erectus group in Africa learning how to gather food from the sea. With a rich source of omega-fatty-acid-laced protein that is the ultimate brain food, and without expending much energy in hunts for wild game that were also hominin predators, they now had time for other pursuits. They started organizing their cave dwellings, made tools that were way more refined than necessary, and created shell trinkets which they painted with ochre.

Sounds familiar? They might as well have gathered for tribal council and voted off the weakest link in their evolution group. The shell trinkets would have done well as an immunity symbol, don’t you think? But, I digress.

The ramifications of their other pursuits, which were far removed from mere survival activities, were enormously important. These were huge steps in the evolutionary ladder of Homo sapiens. These were the seeds of culture. If the scientists' deduction holds ground, these would indeed make them forerunners of modern man.

According to the NatGeo feature, Homo sapiens coexisted and may have competed with other hominins, like the Neanderthal Man, Java Man and the recently discovered Homo floresiensis (Hobbit Man). The skills in creativity and ingenuity that Homo sapiens developed could have handily won them the competition. But there’s a twist in the story, as any Survivor episode has. The extremely low genetic diversity among modern man today suggests that we barely made the final cut.

The cause: a natural catastrophic event most likely occurred (see “Toba Volcano: Through the Bottleneck”) that brought the hominins to the brink of extinction. Homo sapiens nearly did not make it as well. In the evolutionary record of modern man, this estimated 10,000 year period brought about by the catastrophic effects of a super-volcanic eruption saw the population dwindle to only less than 3,000. This genetic bottleneck, as evidenced by the extraordinarily low levels of genetic variation within and between races among us, supports an extremely recent origin for Homo sapiens. We must definitely have come from the less than 3,000 who survived.

This also bolsters the “Out of Africa” theory and as the “Toba Volcano: Through the Bottleneck” study phrases it, “puts yet another (the last?) nail in the multiregional coffin.” “Multiregional evolution requires the existence of large populations for long periods, with isolation being rare or absent so that global species could evolve in a single direction. Palaeoanthropological and genetic studies have already done much to discredit this model.” And with the recent discovery of the Flores Island Hobbit Man, “Not only did Homo floresiensis evolve in the absence of gene exchange with other hominins, but no one can argue that LB1 (the first Homo floresiensis skeleton found) contributed to our own species' genetic make-up.”

So, when the catastrophic effects of the Toba event subsided some 63,000 years ago, the bottleneck was released and the surviving hominin population adapted and began to recover. Homo sapiens continued to coexist and most likely competed with Homo neanderthalensis until the Neanderthal Man’s extinction some 30,000 years ago; with Homo erectus javaensis until the Java Man bowed out 25-30,000 years ago; and with Homo floresiensis until the Hobbit Man likewise exited only as recent as 12-18,000 years ago.

And what was our edge over the other hominins? Yes, it was partly due to our more developed brain. But, it was largely because we employed our acquired smarts. Our advantage was our creativity to adapt and our ingenuity to survive. Our learned cultural skills were what made us the ultimate survivor. Mark Burnett can attest to that! Survivor: “Out of Africa” edition… Outwit, Outplay, Outlast!

Blogging My Life

2007-03-25T12:30:00.001+08:00

Oh, yes. I have reservations in starting this blog. I’m overwhelmed by the thought of chronicling my life in the public domain. I have this iffy feeling in taking on the responsibility of presenting an unadulterated view of my self. My posts may be just snippets of my life, but the thought of building my own aquarium is, to me, a bit unnerving. I do have the option to edit, but I choose not to.

My idea of blogging my life is close to how Orson Scott Card characterized Ender Wiggins as the Speaker for the Dead in the sequel to Ender’s Game. This sounds morbid but as life goes, death completes it. Until humankind finds a way to genetically engineer immortals, which won't happen in my lifetime, I am confined to the pragmatic view of my own mortality.

Card’s concept arose from his experiences with death and funerals. He writes, “suffice it to say that I grew dissatisfied with the way that we use our funerals to revise the life of the dead, to give the dead a story so different from their actual life that, in effect, we kill them all over again. No, that is too strong. Let me just say that we erase them, we edit them, we make them into a person much easier to live with than the person who actually lived.”*

I do not want to be edited. I do not want to be erased. So, as I embark on this journey to chronicle my life, I want my words to reflect a person who actually lived.

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*In Orson Scott Card’s Introduction to Speaker for the Dead (1991 edition)

Orson Scott Card’s official website: http://www.hatrack.com/