A fitting farewell

Jessica Zafra is all about the irony, so it was indeed ironic that she posted a photo of my office on her blog on the very weekend that it ceases to be my office.

It's a perfectly timed goodbye to the old place, from one of my favorite writers and bloggers no less. 

Also this weekend, I inquired about a pair of earrings displayed on Rajo Laurel's blog and he was kind enough to send me a personal reply. It seems to be Pinoy celebrity blogger week around here!

Goodbye Oxley Road

The company I work for is moving to a new office this weekend. With Lilian gone and James leaving soon, moving out of the house on Oxley Road feels like an end of an era, a farewell to the "old" BDA. I wonder what the new one (both the house and the company) will be like.

I admit I had my doubts about it at first, but I could see the potential. My love for old houses soon won out. With some minor improvements and a fresh lick of paint, the beauty of this pre-war house (which is considered ancient in Singapore) began to shine through. I began to fall in love with its airiness, high ceilings and the abundance of natural light, which I will miss. 

The main workroom for me, the interns and the boys (designers). The light fixtures are vintage and come with the house. The floors are polished cement. 

It always fills me with pride to hear the reactions of clients and visitors who step into our office for the first time. People just love it. 

We used to have clients who would come over for meetings more often than usual just to escape the tedium of their own offices. Everybody would rave about how beautiful it was, how we must love working here, how it doesn't feel like an office at all, how they would love to work here, what a bomb we must be paying for a place like this (it rents for substantially less than people might suspect). I couldn't agree more. Even when I have to come to work on Saturday, the house is a consolation. It never feels like work. I sometimes find myself calling it "the house", not the office.

Our head office in London hates it. I think they just don't understand the culture and how aspirational this kind of place is for people in the region. I don't understand how our group director could have called it a shithole. :( Thus the move. 

We painted these murals using the company motif (fish) and color (blue) last January when the economy was down -- business was so slow that we had nothing else to do. It was a brilliant idea of Lilian's -- it was fun and kept us busy until work started to roll in.

When we first moved in, I made sure to get a desk beside the window for the sunshine and the greenery.

Speaking of greenery, there is so much of it around. I will miss it. Here's the second floor hallway where Jerrold likes to have his coffee and smoke with James. 

And right across from us is the yoga studio. Sometimes when I feel stressed I come up here and look out into the green and the neighborhood. 

Or I go into the backyard and take a breather. More recently I've developed the habit of having lunch outside even though most people find it too warm out. I'll miss the backyard too. 

It's a perfect place for barbecues, which we do quite often. 

Barbecues seem to be one of the national pastimes of Singapore, right after shopping and queuing for something. 

We had the last official barbecue last night and I still smell like liempo.

I'll even miss the kitchen, which is too small to fit more than three people at a time and reminds me of a hobbit kitchen. 

I'll miss the neighborhood and stepping out into this sunshiny, quiet street (which enjoys special protection, considering Lee Kwan Yew lives on the same street). I'll also miss the five-minute walk to Orchard Road -- goodbye Uniqlo megastore, long decompressing lunches, quick decompressing shopping escapes, Mang Kiko's lechon. I'm sure Chinatown is pretty happening as well, but well Orchard is different.

Goodbye, 55 Oxley Road. You were a lovely home to all of us. Too bad we only knew you for a year and a half. 

Thankful

Last weekend was my big shoot for a project I've been working on for over four months. It was the cause of many sleepless nights, working Saturdays, and elevated heart rates for me. It was my first time to be the overall production manager on a project after Lilian left, on no less than a three-day multiple location shoot.

In the month before the shoot, my mind was filled with all the things that could possibly go wrong. Would we get our shoot insurance in time? Would the Land Transport Authority realize they gave us permission to shoot on the wrong date? Would this sixth round of casting finally be the last? Was rainy season in Singapore really over? Why wasn't one of the talents answering my calls and texts? What potential crises could come up and how would I respond? (What a vague question huh? This is the one that drove me up the wall.)

Then I had a breakthrough. And the oddest thing happened -- the two final weeks leading up to the shoot were the most relaxed I had had in months. We had pre-production meetings within the team where we realized we barely had anything to discuss. The final PPM with the client was a breeze. We finished packing up all the production stuff -- drinks, snacks, props -- and loaded them into the van at lunchtime the day before the shoot, and not at the last minute or in the dead of night. I even had time to print all the permits and release forms, neatly print each talent's name on payment vouchers and put their fees into separate (recycled) envelopes.

Then I realized four months of pre-production might have been like going into long, painful and drawn-out labor, but without all those months of pre-work, I might have died trying to pull off a shebang like this at the last minute.

And so we shot. Yes, sh*t happened -- a few things went missing, the usual client this-and-that, even the bane of my existence as a PM: overtime (for each hour of which, everyone on the crew charges me 1.5x their hourly rate! Gak!). Yet each day, after shooting wrapped for the day, I felt only two overwhelming things. Fatigue, and gratitude.

I was thankful for... 

... the beautiful, sunny weather and clear blue skies on all three days of the shoot -- even when we were shooting indoors. The day after we wrapped, it began to rain daily.

... the amazing performances of our talents. Our death-defying skateboarder had all of us applauding after takes. Despite literally skateboarding from 9 to 5, he was smiling the entire time.

... for the patience and sense of humor of our extras. They poked fun at each other wearing the compulsory, client-required safety gear, which they said they hadn't worn since they were 10. They had some mad skills too.

... the energy, enthusiasm, good looks and stellar performances of our cast. Every one of these kids was a winner. We had only one non-teen (she was 24!) and you couldn't tell she was a day over 16. For me, she stole the show.

... the kindness of our clients. They had typical client concerns, but nothing we couldn't handle and always delivered in the most pleasant and constructive manner. On the whole I couldn't have asked for better.

... the caring presence of my favorite makeup auntie, Doris. She pampers all the talents, looks after everyone on set and goes beyond the call of duty every time. She even mirrors all the directors' instructions just outside frame, because she believes it will help the talents. She's so cute.

... the support of my team at BDA. I really felt everyone supporting me. They always seem to know what to do and I felt we all worked really well together.

... the generosity of Joan, who owns the yoga centre next door. She allowed us to shoot in her beautiful ground floor studio with nary a second thought. She arrived on set to find a maelstrom of cables, shoes (we had to take them off to avoid damaging her flawless parquet), equipment and furniture and was totally Zen about it. I guess 30 years of yoga does wonders for your equilibrium. Without her, I don't know what I would have done. Her yoga space transformed perfectly into a home jamming setup, with ample space for the crew and equipment.

...  the support of the hubby. Marlon massaged my feet after the shoot, treated me to a lovely dinner at Original Sin in Holland Village (I'm sure it was lovely, although I was so tired I can barely recall tasting anything), and even came over to lift heavy furniture and help dress up the set. James joked that next time we should introduce him as our art director.

More than anything, I'm thankful that it's done! A milestone in my career safely tucked into the folds of my experience. Now, on to the next!

Flip-flopping

Do we take it literally?! Haha!

I've been going back and forth (and back and forth... and then some) over a big work-related decision for the past month or two. My cycles alternate between Hmmm sige na nga and Pakshet #~$@&^%! And the cycling back and forth between the... er, cycles has gotten to almost manic-depressive levels lately.

I exaggerate of course. But it seems as if I change my mind on a day-to-day, and sometimes hour-to-hour basis. When I'm stressed I tend to swing one way, and when I'm rested I come wobbling back in the other direction. Victories at work both big (which I'll blog about this weekend - it must be celebrated!) and small buoy me up, but the weight of other, more consistent stresses at work almost immediately drag me down. Aggravation pulls me down one path, but worries about income and career (your recent posts are so in sync with my life, Pia! Friends talaga tayo!) anchor me in place.

Still, I trust that I'll make the right decision at the right time. My patient husband has played the dutiful therapist through all these mood swings, which I'm thankful for. His listening ear, warm hugs and quiet but unwavering support settles me when I'm most agitated and need to think clearly. And I discovered a prayer for discernment in a book of prayers my in-laws gave us for Christmas, reminding me that big decisions need the wisdom and guidance that escapes us mere mortals.

Wish me luck and pray for me please :)

Sniff

Okay we can't afford the house. Not by a long shot.

It's hard to say goodbye. :P

Survey

Question lang.

What's so great about Tumblr?

Am I a dinosaur for still being on Blogger?

Anong magandang audition song kung balak kong mag-choir ulit?

Zest Air will offer value flights from Singapore to Manila starting end of the month. Ok kaya flights nila? O scary patootsie ba?

What's good to shop for in KL aside from Vincci shoes?

Should I buy a new coffee maker even if we don't drink coffee at home that often?

This old house

I love old houses.

I love the kind that were built in the 50s and 60s, like our old house on Hydra Street in Bel-Air, with adobe walls, crazy-cut flooring, pendant lights and exposed beams.

Even though I am not wild about jalousie windows or solid wood-panelled walls, there is just something about these old houses that speaks to me. Yes, they might have termites or faulty plumbing or deteriorating kitchens, but they also have architectural details you just can't find anymore. They have a light, a kind of magic about them that you can't recreate these days. They remind me of my childhood.

Marlon knows about my love for old houses, but the thought of my... special "abilities", plus what could possibly be lurking in those old houses creeps him out. So he would rather go for a new house. Still, I am hopeful that if we could find the just right old house, I could convince him to go for a fixer-upper instead.

I recently learned about a lovely old house in Mandaluyong, built in the 60s, which used to belong to a person who was very dear to Marlon and myself (and instrumental in our having met at all!). I used to drive by it every day on the way to work and never knew it belonged to that person. It's been put on the market and when I saw the photos I couldn't help myself -- I inquired with the seller's agent.

I hope we can afford it. I would get over my aversion to long-term bank loans for this one. And besides, to assuage my husband's fears, I'm positive the former owner wouldn't be lurking around the house anymore. Heaven must have instantaneously feted her arrival with a sumptuous banquet.

Photo courtesy of M. Besa Roxas.

10 years ago I was 18

UPDATED: Now with pictures and a note on technology!

Maggie and Gutsy's forays into nostalgiatime made me realize, somewhat belatedly, that 2010 marks the passing of an entire decade. So I thought a look back at the Noughties (surely there is something better to call it?) was worth blogging about.

But as I have the awful habit of putting a favorite song on loop literally for years, thus preventing more current songs from penetrating my aural fog, I am not in the best position to make a playlist to commemorate the decade.

So let me just remember how it was 10 years ago, when I was 18.

10 years ago...

... I was a college freshman and my favorite class was English with Doreen Fernandez. I was just beginning to discover how much writing was a part of me, how happy I was doing it, and how good I could really be at it. Ten years later, it's become how I make a living and how I live.

... I was possessed by the terrifying belief that to lose myself in the delicious mindlessness of pleasure, I had to be very deeply in love. To my great relief, I learned that the two could exist independently, thereby leading to some very liberating but otherwise pointless and frustrating... er, adventures.

... I made a powerful choice to be happy, long before I knew I could make such powerful choices, which got me over the biggest heartbreak of my life. Thankfully, no other heartbreak has followed to date.

... I promised to be friends with my first love. We still are.

... I met the man whom I would marry. I never thought he would be the one.

... The singular point of my existence was making it on tour, getting to Europe and having a life-changing adventure. I was probably waiting for some European Lothario to sweep me off my feet, but the real life-changer was the friends I made in the process of making it on tour and singing my way through Europe.

... I fell in love with singing. And after years of being an alto, I became a soprano. Now that was life-changing!

... I was in Slovenia, among other places. And I was shocked to discover not everywhere in Europe was prettier/newer/better than the Philippines. Slovenia!!! How's that for somewhere you'll never be again.

 
Que horror! Ano ba yang bandanna efek? 

... Oh Lord! All my tour pictures were on film. Each roll of film cost roughly Php150 and about the same to develop. I had to really think about which pictures I wanted to take. I saved up for months to have all 18 rolls from the tour developed. In my mind, 10 years is not that long ago since the memories are amazingly fresh -- but looking at these film prints just makes it all seem prehistoric.

...  Speaking of pictures. The only person who had a digital camera back then was multibillionaire wonder boy and pawnshop heir Harvey Villarica. The resolution of this uber-expensive piece of technology was... ONE megapixel. Which meant he could develop them into prints about the size of a postage stamp (or, if you really wanna go back, Neoprint-size). We were all mystified the first time he showed it to us. "Harvey, what will you do with the pictures if you can't develop them?" my English block mates wondered. "Put them on the Internet," he shrugged. We just stared at him. "But... what for?" Ah, the dark ages.

... My family and I were struggling to make ends meet. There were days where I literally would have to scrounge up fifty pesos just to be able to go to school. Things are vastly improved now, to say the least.

... I shared a bedroom with my sister, with my mom in the next room. Today we live in three different cities -- Sta. Rosa, Kuala Lumpur and Singapore.

... I was at least 35 lbs lighter. This in spite of the fact that I would have a three-pack of Chips Ahoy or a chocolate bar everyday. Well at least now we know how I got to my present weight. Hah.

... And in spite of the fact that I was 35 lbs lighter, I absolutely did not take advantage of my skinny-ness and dressed like an eejit. My favorite outfit was flared jeans, black leather platforms from the mercato in Milan, a blouse and a Jansport backpack. Ngek. My second favorite outfit was army green cargo pants, a large t-shirt, and sneakers. Fug. This style of dressing created the impression that I was either butch (Marlon: "I thought you hated guys") or an athlete (Mags Imaizumi: "Oh aren't you on the soccer varsity? You dress like the type"). Go figure.

 I loved this butchy grey Esprit jacket to death. I wore it all over Europe 
with my passport, wallet, camera AND travel journal stuffed into my tummy pocket 
like a dumpy manang kangaroo. I even cried when it went missing. 

Now I wish I could reach into this photo and rip it off me. 
Mamatay na lang ako sa lamig.

... I was one, maybe two cup sizes smaller. I would gladly give back my boobs if I could also give back the rest of the poundage I've accumulated since then.

... I had virgin hair. (High school attempts to "dye" it with Kool-Aid do not count.) I had only just discovered how not to tweeze my eyebrows to invisibility. Upper lip waxing, moisturizer, eye cream and sunblock were not yet part of my beauty vocabulary. The only sunblock in my consciousness was Coppertone and you would never think of putting that gunk on your face if you weren't at the beach.

... I failed Math 12. Ten years later, does it matter? Hell no.

... Come to think of it, I can say with perfect honesty and zero regret that I once woke up to find myself in bed with my Math 12 teacher and his wife! (Be not alarmed: Lorna, Gerard and I were in the same Glee Club caroling group that year and we slept in the sofabed in Eunice's den after caroling in Alabang. I was sleeping next to Lorna, naturally. LOL!)

Two years ago

I was on honeymoon in India.

Ten days later, I landed in Singapore and started my new life as Marlon's wife.

Time flies.

Oopsy!

Thank you Drei for telling me comment posting was off.

It's back on now. I was wondering why it was so quiet around here. Comment away, people!

Bohol-bound!

I am having a wonderful day!

The final PPM for next week's shoot went off without a hitch. I got home early from the meeting because my boss didn't want to drive back to the office from faraway Loyang. I got home in time to catch up on some feminine upkeep (handwashing clothes with Woolite and epilating!). And I'm making plans for my upcoming vacation, which just fills me with so much excitement!

Marlon and I had decided on Cebu for Chinese New Year because a) I've never been there, b) it's a direct flight from Singapore and c) last year's hullaballoo over Marketman's lechon had driven Marlon to the very edge of desire!

Then we started thinking of hitting the beach. A few DOPs (that's Director of Photography, a.k.a. camera man) I've worked with had shot in Bantayan and Malapascua, and were all raving about it. (To my great delight -- yes, me, Miss Philippines Tourism-Singapore.) Malapascua seemed great, but the four-hour bus trip was an issue for me.

It was my sister who came up with the brilliant suggestion of Bohol.

Only an hour's ferry ride away from the Cebu seaport (I sound like a tourist brochure already!), it also had a lot of other fun stuff to do like the Loboc river cruise, see the Chocolate Hills in 3D (and not on cheap textbook newsprint!) and meet Benjamin Linus' little bug-eyed cousins, the tarsiers.

Generally I found the accommodations on Panglao (the ones listed online anyway) a lot more expensive than those on Malapascua. And I was momentarily tempted by the rustic cuteness of the Bohol Bee Farm, except I wasn't too wild about the swimming area, a small, rocky pocket of beach they had to themselves. But after some sleuthing I found the lovely La Pernela Beachfront Resort on the opposite side of the island from Alona Beach, a nice place with great reviews at a reasonable price. Plus when I called the owner, she sounded like Maggie's mom haha. So soon as I make the deposit on the rooms, we'll be all set!

I love planning vacations. This is going to be a fabulous way to celebrate after my Disney shoot in KL!

Getting there

I had to stay late at work tonight to finish a Powerpoint presentation for a meeting tomorrow. I didn't mind at all, because I am just so glad to be reaching a huge milestone in a project that I've been working on for the past four or five months.

It's the final pre-production meeting (PPM), one last run-through and final approval of all my casting, location, wardrobe and other troubles before the actual shoot next week. Getting to this point means that everything has been approved by The Powers That Be and that the shoot will push through as scheduled. Trust me, even after pre-production has been going on for 4-5 months, there's never a guarantee that it will push through. Parang tour diba? Wala kang guarantee until nakasakay ka na sa eroplano. Or at least that's what officers tell the trainees to scare them, haha.

There was a time I felt as it we would never get to the final PPM! Clients always have a right to refuse anything we present (a right they love to use, more often than not) and it seemed like we had run into a wall of "no no no no no absolutely not" at one point. Thankfully now the last few loose ends are being tied up, and all I have to worry about is getting through my very first shoot as producer and line producer (without Lilian, I might add, who leaves Yeti-sized shoes to fill).

It's a three day shoot with multiple locations, so it was giving me sleepless nights just worrying about organizing the logistics and making sure sh*t doesn't happen. Funny, I used to see the titles "producer" and "line producer" in film credits and wonder what it meant. Now I know it means planning for sh*t, making sh*t happen according to plan and making sure sh*t doesn't happen. 

The price we pay for learning things, huh?

Epiphany

Sorry if this all seems rather cryptic. I'm thinking aloud.

I attended Mass today for the first time in a long time. Today is the feast of the Epiphany, where the baby Jesus revealed himself to the Three Kings.

I had a bit of an epiphany myself. I just realized that I've been forcing myself to do something that I don't like doing just to prove to myself that I can do it. Not because it makes me happy and fulfilled, or because it's something I'm passionate about, but to defy doubts unspoken (from myself) and imagined (from others) in my ability to do it.

And after all these months, I just realized that I can do it, but I just don't like it. That I have a right to not like one thing and prefer the other. Isn't that strange? I've been feeling like something's wrong with me because I don't enjoy doing it. But that's the way people are. There are things we like and don't like, and we don't have to like everything.

It's like really liking chocolate and being presented with vanilla. I don't like the taste of vanilla -- I really like chocolate but force myself to eat vanilla just to make myself seem "normal." But actually, preferring chocolate is normal too! How absurd huh?

And so this is the space I'm in for now. Being okay with not liking something, and not forcing myself to like it. It may seem to you like a "duh" moment, an odd epiphany or an insignificant, self-evident one.

But for now, it's better than the place I was in just a few weeks, days or even moments ago. Let's see where we can go from here.

Just the two of us

When I was a little brat, the only thing I hated about the holidays was the inevitable deluge of visitors. What seemed like an endless parade of vans would disgorge relations or family friends from out of town, who descended upon our family as their holiday treat.

I especially hated when this happened on Christmas Day because it meant we couldn't open the gifts until every last visitor went away. Seeing that giant pile of unopened gifts winking at you until five or six in the evening on Christmas Day was just pure torture. Then of course there was all the noise (which we Pinoys find necessary to make holidays "masaya") and fawning and pinching that comes with all those people. My mom still has pictures of little bratty me clinging to her and refusing to talk to people. One look at my squelched-up tampo face and you can practically hear me begging her to just send all these people away.

Eventually either I got used to it or the number of holiday crashers dwindled (Christmas visitors, of course, being directly proportional to size of house and family income), but soon enough I got old enough to not want quiet holidays so badly.

Twenty-odd years later I finally, surprisingly get my wish.

Marlon and I had been thinking of heading down to Marina Bay for the New Year's Eve countdown, the only place where fireworks are legal in this country. But I hadn't been feeling well and the thought of massive crowds, an epic trek home by bus, or squabbling with half of Singapore to get a taxi afterwards struck me dumb with fear. So I stayed at home and rested. Which was... really, really nice.

Marlon and I cooked dinner together, which is something that always relaxes me and cheers me up. Our first Media Noche was simple -- we broiled salmon steaks in wine and butter, then baked them with a glaze of mustard and brown sugar.

While the fish was in the oven, I slipped into a nice long dress that I normally don't wear out, and spritzed on some perfume. Marlon put on a red t-shirt with a Chinese character on it that he hoped meant something like good fortune.

With ten minutes till midnight, the part of me that is secretly waiting to transform into my mother kicked in. I went into a table-setting frenzy, faint parental admonitions about making everything clean and shiny and fancy to welcome the new year echoing in my subconscious.

We cleared the dining table of the junk it manages to accumulate every so often to make space for some cream-colored hybrid carnations that Marlon had bought for me the day before. I set out strawberries in a bowl, lit a handful of tealights from Ikea, and turned off all the lights except for the Christmas tree and a paper floor lamp. Et voila!

We filled our glasses with sparkling wine (do you know you can't call it champagne unless it's from Champagne, France?) and clinked them at midnight, toasting to more adventures in the coming year. We said grace before dinner, thanking God for our blessings and asking him to make the new year kinder to those burned and scarred by the year that was. We dug into our salmon steaks in the candlelight, marveling at the fact that we had never had a candlelit dinner at home before.

And I realized it was the first time that I was welcoming new year without my family -- and as much as I missed them, that it was okay. Because this is also my family now.

Just the two of us (oh alright -- and the cat)... until further notice.

Have a blessed and fulfilling New Year, everyone!