Chapter Cebu

Seventy-two hours of Cebu.
Seventy-two hours since leaving the chaotic security of Makati and all it's worldly trappings...and it's strange almost dreamlike memories.

I have walked into a different trap. One that I find I don't want to walk out of just yet.
Over the next few months I will immerse myself in an altered reality of...well, altered reality - human poetry on the silver screen.

My Slovakian room mate has thankfully turned out to be a cool, grounded, non-adolescent who, like me, has reached this place through the strangest of avenues and with the purest intentions - to do great work.

Whether we survive the industry and all it has to throw at us remains to be seen.

The real work starts next week but it's already been an unbelievable first three days here.
Truth really is sometimes stranger than fiction.

Beached

Random thoughts on a gloomy beach afternoon while listening to Joan Jett and downing San Mig light:

People here are nice. I think it must be the accent. It's been an adrenaline free vacation so far.
The rain was starting to come down but people were still in the ocean. It rains every afternoon and it's only the first week of May.
I keep thinking of the gangster, the australian and the mouse. Not so much as of them personally but more of the lives they lead. Screwed up as they are, I can't help but admire the panache, and semi-integrity with which they live their lives. Right or wrong, they soldier on, marching to the beat of their own drums.
This beach trip is my last hurrah for the summer.
Then its down to focusing on some of what could possibly be my future. Practically shitting myself but trying not to think of it right now.

My beer is almost done and its still raining. Damn rain clouds refuse to move and are ruining a perfectly good afternoon by the sea.
My friend is still in the pool trying to convince herself floating is swimming.
I am a lone woman at this table with an ipod for company, downing beer and writing on a table napkin. I'm getting the expected stares.
Almost everyone here is in a group or with a partner. Except for Brit boy. Female caucasian pair look about my age. They smile. I smile.
People and dolphins like to travel in groups.
My beer tastes good. Want to order another but am restraining myself for sake of grandfatherly waiter. Other guy looks easier to ask.
Cramps gone for now. Flanax saves the day.

A possible English-boy in Baguio

While stuck in traffic, I saw a young boy walking in the rain. Didn't seem to mind the rain. He did however, crinkle his nose when a passing jeepney spewed black carbon smoke in his face as it passed.
Possibly only twelve or thirteen. Had regular Malay features, was lean in an athletic kind of way and was a pretty good looking Pinoy kid. He looked Pinoy but the air about him was that of one lost in his own locale.
What struck me was the way he walked and the shirt he wore. He had on a red footballer's shirt with a white cross and the word England on it. He walked as if he just wanted to blend in and was looking at everything around him with some curiosity.
I wondered if he had grown up somewhere else as well, and had just recently moved to the city.
I wondered if he knew how to speak in the vernacular, was aware of local customs, had been taught the "basics".
Was he getting the hang of the rigid brand of teaching here as opposed to the possibly laid back, democratic classes where one's ideas and opinions were welcomed back where he came from? Did he understand that you couldn't go around smiling at everyone lest you are mistaken to be too familiar? Had he learnt that religion went hand in hand with everyday life here and that small mindedness would have to be dealt with on a regular basis? And as with everywhere else in the world, was he reminded not to lose himself in the whirlwind of conformity?
No matter, he'd learn, one way or another. He'd be fine.
I had been more lost than he was and had survived. He'd be fine.