One more time - for the books

For those who watched and loved Slumdog Millionaire, they would also love the book from which this movie was based on. The book is Q&A, written by Vikas Swarup and all I can say that it is a gem!I was hooked from page one to the last -- almost forgetting that I had to be in the predeparture area 15 minutes before the flight.

I found myself enjoying a lot of asian authors recently. I think I have finished all the books by Haruki Murakami and had started to discover Indian authors and their amazing talents.

Whilst in India, I have devoured novels by Anita Desai (who have written novels about family tensions and the alienation of lower and middle class women -- some of these were even made into films), Jhumpa Lahiri (who wrote the Namesake and other short stories), Arundhati Roy (The God of Small Things, Kiran Desai, Salman Rushdie,Vikram Seth (A Suitable Boy) and my latest favorite Aravind Adiga who wrote The White Tiger (which won the Booker prize).

I believe there are a lot of talented asians and what they have written touch me because of the commonality of experiences. Not basically because of our location, but it is easier to empathize and sympathize with the characters and the situations.

In this day of movies and videos readily available for anyone at anytime, I still find solace, adventure, love, experience, fantasy, escape, and a whole lot of things from books. I am lucky to have some friends who share with me the same passion for reading.

and you can print me on that....

Greetings-A-Gaga

I am often irritated when upon meeting friends (and acquaintances) who I haven't seen for a long time greet me with this statement:

"Hi... Are you rich now?"


I mean, common. Let's be civilized here. I haven't seen you for a long time and you can't even ask how I am and where I have been all these years? I know that Ethics (with a capital E) is refined as Experiences (with a capital E)grow, and that common sense should prevail at all times (note that common sense is not even italicized -- it is just that it isn't common these days). But wouldn't the natural thing be when meeting long lost friends --- just being happy you've found each other?

I had this friend from med-school days who I have recently met while pushing my grocery cart (where else but SM city?) and guess what he asked me: "I heard you are rich now, is that true?"

I answered: "indi a. makasarang lang.." (roughly translated as : You bet your sweet ass, I am!)

In Ethiopia, one of my favorite places in the world, people when they meet have the traditional hug and handshake. And as a sign of respect, ask the person ten times how he is... Redundant but very endearing.

In Vanuatu, my 'family' would give me a big hug (more of a huge squeeze, really)to show their happiness in seeing me.

So going back to the weird way my friends greet me, I become defensive and often times snobbish. I hate this feeling as this develops into hate....later I would find myself locking my wandering butt in the house for fear of meeting old friends and be defensive about their paranoia of me being rich.

Maybe I should wear a t-shirt saying: I'm not rich, but I am definitely famous.

.... or maybe just the shirt which says: "Fuck off".

God! The travails of going home!

Old Articles

I am posting something which I have written for MSF-HK some years back -- after I finished my first mission in Ethiopia.It's not for the lack of things to write that I am putting this here, but due to some requests from people who have been following my blog. These (articles) have been printed in Hong Kong and distributed to high school students, and published in the msf-Hong Kong website some years back. These articles have also been used for fund raising. I hope you will like them!


Saying a prayer

Dear Friends,

Hi! Salam no (that means peace in Amharic)! It's been quite a while since I have written you all. I have here in Abdurafi, Ethiopia – the farthest and the most isolated part – for the past 4 weeks now. I am all alone in the -project: the PC had just been evacuated because of glandular fever and the ex-pat nurse has to go back to England because of family problems.

It has so far been okay, I mean, being the project coordinator and all. It's a new thing for me so there is a lot of room for mistakes and of course, improvements. I have had the opportunity to manage the hospital in Vanuatu, but here, it's a different ball game. Anyways, if there's one thing which would make me feel bad, it's the patients and not the "office work".

I think from this perspective I could say with much conviction that WE ARE VERY LUCKY. We worry about the trivial things everyday – what kind of food we want to eat, where shall we go after work, our mobile phone credits, what kind of outfit best needed for this occasion, so on and so forth. Here, I have seen a lot of young men and even children walking hundreds of kilometers to work in sesame, sorghum and cotton farms. Their average daily wage is approximately 3 US dollars, and they stay in these farms in the direst of conditions. No clean water to drink, not enough food, and no medicines for malaria and other diseases.

The other day, I had a referral from the local Bureau of Health because of a young man who had fever of more than 2 months, enlarged spleen and severe emaciation (his BMI was less than 13%). The only property he has is the clothes on his back – he doesn't even have anything on his feet.

I could never forget the look on his face when he died. There is that look of hopelessness – something which I could not describe, but something which I can truly feel. Something which you can taste. Here is someone in front of me who left his home and family to earn some money, dying without his family knowing. Dying, without someone saying a prayer for him.

He will be buried in an unmarked grave, along with hundreds of migrant workers from all over Ethiopia.

As a doctor, I try to separate myself from the harsh realities of my job. At medical school, we were told to keep the doctor-patient relationship strictly professional. It would be better to treat patients if you have little emotional baggage. Here, I can't help but empathize with every sick person who comes to the clinic. Why? These are people who bet on their lives to earn some money for themselves and their family. Sometimes, they loose their bet. That is one hard price they have to pay.

I am sorry if this letter is a bit depressing. I guess there is no other way to tell the story. I'll try to make it up beat next time, promise!

Miss you all!

Erwin




September 20, 2006

The value of money

Dear friends,

Hello! I would like relate my story in Amharic (just to brag – hahahaha!) but of course, no one could understand it. I have been here for 3 months now and I feel quite confident in speaking the language. In fact, when I go on rounds, I ask the nurse not to interpret for me. Anyways, it so much fun to look at the faces of the patients when I speak Amharic.

It had been a rough week for us – my national staff doctor has been away for the Somali explo and one of my nurses is sick. The number of patients we were taking care of was more than what the clinic can handle. On top of this, the cholera treatment center has been receiving more than 60 patients per day. Thank God I have another ex-pat helping me with CTC or else I would go crazy!

I know you probably are asking if I still get very interesting cases. Yes, I do. Kala Azar is quite an easy disease to treat if the patient comes early. However, when the parasite has devoured much of the patient, the course would be a short slide down hill. Worst, if the patient is co-infected with HIV.

The other day, I was informed by the nurse on duty at 2:00 am of a patient in status epilepticus. A migrant worker was admitted earlier that day because of severe emaciation, fever, spleenomegaly and epistaxis.

The patient was still having focal seizures when I arrived. A young male probably aged 20-22 years, BMI of less than 15%, lies on the bed. He was clinching his fist very tightly. His random blood sugar was very low, making me think that one of the probable causes of his seizures would be hypoglycemia. But then, he also has diarrhea, so it could be anything. After giving Phenobarbital, hydration and pushing glucose intravenously, the patient calmed down.

When he relaxed his hand, we found 800 birr (about 100 US dollars)! I told the nurse to keep the money so no one would take it from the patient while he is asleep. The next day, he was up but severely weak. I asked him why he is so thin when he had money to spend for food. Why is he wearing a torn shirt when he could buy himself decent clothes?

He gave me a wry smile and answered softly: "It is for my family".

I tried holding back my tears, because a lot of us would do everything for our family, or for the persons we valued. I have heard of countless of stories of people leaving their comfort zones to earn money somewhere else. A lot of Filipinos have sacrificed themselves so their families would have a scrap of luxury back home.

But what is the actual value of money in a place like Ethiopia? 800 birr would feed his family for the next three months. He would be able to buy seeds for the next planting season. He would be able to get on a bus and go home. 800 birr is probably worth two cows, or four goats, or three sheep. 800 birr is big money.

After two days of ups and down in the patient's condition, he died.

I asked the staff as to who shall I send the money the patient owns, but all I got was a shrug from every member of the staff. We don't know where he came from – all we have was a name.

What is really the value of money? For this young man, it was his life.

Every year for four to five months, thousands of migrant workers go these parts of Ethiopia to work in the farms. The population in Abdurafi which is about 50,000 during summer would go up as high as 180,000 during the planting season. Of these, hundreds of young men die from hunger and malnutrition, HIV/AIDS and Kala Azar, and other diseases. The sad reality is that for money, a lot of these people would be willing to risk life and limbs.

On the other side of the world, a lot of my friends have asked me why I am in this kind of work. I, along with thousands of volunteers risk also our life and limbs for a lot of different reasons. I used to respond with a very generic answer: "I want to make a difference". Recently, I have changed my answer to: "I can make a difference". Money has been an issue with a lot of my friends. Of course, I fully understand them. We were in school for almost 10 years of our lives and so, to "waste" it by not earning enough, is absolutely crazy. However, it is not always about the money. Sure, it is nice to have ready cash to spend on things you wanted, but at the end of the day, you ask: "Am I satisfied"? "Have I done my part and helped people"? How much more money do I want"?

So you see my friends, we all have different valuation of things. I don't question our quest for better financial status. The value of what we work for depends on whose perspective it falls into. A young man, barely out of his adolescence would at anytime give his life for a hundred dollars for his family. What would we give in exchange for what we do?

I hope have not touched any raw nerves. My work in this isolated place has taught me a lot of things. I am learning everyday – even though it is the hard way. I also hope that I have opened up some views, and made you all realized how important life is.

Keep in touch and please do give any response to this letter. Miss you all!

Erwin

Questions on Hospitality

I have wanted to write some things on my blog for a long time now. I never had the inspiration for it – despite the many things which happened recently. The saying “old knives need to be sharpened always” is true in my case. I haven’t really lost the knack for writing – I just didn’t feel like writing. I don’t want to make excuses for my failure but, hey! Gimme a break!

However, a couple of days ago I had a rather weird conversation with an old friend --- whom I have not seen for a long, long time – and this woke/provoked/invoked the sleeping wannabe-writer in me.
The setting: Posh coffee shop, somewhere in Davao City
The time: 3 am

Let me give you a background about my friend. He was a classmate in the university. He was from another class, but when we reached 4th year, we went to the same hospital to do our internship. Friend was a quiet guy, very unassuming, and since he is from Mindanao, he seldom joins the Ilonggo group who are more boisterous and popular. Nevertheless, “friend D” was accepted and soon became a part of my other ‘beer-kadas’. We went to Cebu in the last year of the internship to take the now-defunct NMAT (National Medical Aptitude Test). I passed and he didn’t so that was the last time I saw him.

And so we forward to the recent times, when upon coming back home from a mission, another friend told me that he (the former friend D) is a now a big political guy in one of the towns in Mindanao! Pleasantly shocked, because I never saw Leadership potentials in him when we were in the university. He was always the timid guy sitting at the back row, bowing his head during class recitation.

So when I came to Davao last week, I sent some of my friends a text message, informing them that I will be in the city for three nights only (wow--- it’s like I’m doing a show, huh?). Willie (one of my closest friends), couldn’t come because his wife just delivered (congratulations – at long last – it is a boy!!!) and two others couldn’t come because of the strong rains in Kidapawan, Cotabato. So there I was with “friend D”. The first time I saw him was weird – because we didn’t know whether we’d shake hands or not (we were never huggers – even way back then). And after the usual how are you’s, he invited me to a resto where his wife was waiting.

We dined, and it was very nice for the wife was a pleasant conversationalist – befitted to be a politician’s wife. She knows how to say the proper words at the proper time. I learned that they have two beautiful girls and that they are trying to conceive once more. At 10:30 pm, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Mayor left.So me and friend D went out for a beer or two. Or three. Then it was 1:00 am.

He suggested we go to a brothel.

I stopped short and told him – “but your wife?”

No answer. I told him that I would rather stay in the hotel because I have to catch the 6 am flight.

He was persistent.

I didn’t expect him to offer to bring me to the “finest” prostitution den in Davao City. He may want to show his hospitality by offering me that’s why I was caught off guard.

When I was younger (read: uni days), I have had my share of “the good times” with classmates and friends – I admit. Some are memorable but most of those times were awkward and forgettable. I was young, naive, uncertain and lacked the self esteem most kids nowadays would have. Of course, I had the fear of catching a disease -- brought about by the endless hours of staining urethral and vaginal smears.

Anyways, he kind of resented the fact that I didn’t take on his offer. I told him that I am in a relationship and that being with someone else – much more a prostitute – would hurt both of us. I would be lying more if I said I didn’t want to --- it’s just that I guess I have reached this age where relationships matter more than a mere ejaculation.

He left feeling bad. I felt good about myself. I felt sorry for him. I could finally say that after all these years – after all the experimentations and the uncertainties – I have become mature.

And that makes me really proud.

The Travails of Mr. Common Face

A friend of mine once said: "You do have a common face. You could be a spy". Imagine saying that in the weeeeiiiirdest French accent you clould hear.

Of course I was flushed with admiration on my not so common face! I mean, this guy I just met in Maungdaw gave me the ultimate score on my looks! And he is French at that! (Hello... fashion, ring a bell?)

And then when he left Myanmar, he sent me an email saying, I should work for the CIA! Bastard, doesn't he know that any form of communication is being read, translated and transcribed in Myanmar? So, I said, why not work for the CIA? I've been dodging bullets all my life anyway.... (flash: career change).

So going back to my common face, I remember the following anecdotes in my exciting life that I have been mistaken, unidentified and un-minded. Let me give you recent stories of my predicament:

1. Hong Kong this July 2009. I wanted to buy a reload card for my phone at the 7-11 shop just below the hotel where I was staying. The teller couldn't understand shit as I was doing a lot of non-verbal ways to "say" what I want. (Hint: try "reload card" when you play a game of charades with your friends). So this pinay (wearing sexy jeans shorts) came to me and explained in broken chinese what I wanted. I thanked her, profusely, and she asked me in this wonderful accent that is Bisaya: " Asa man ang amo mo dong?".

2. On the plane from HK to Manila, I was lucky to be seated far from the maddening crowds of passengers eager to go home. The guy next to me, has been looking at me like he wanted to strike a conversation. Tired and jetlagged, I decided to sleep the trip off. Halfway through the Land of Winks, I hear the girl next to him telling him that her employer/boss plan to take her to Auckland. She then said: " Kuya, saan ba yung Auckland?" The guy next to me said: "Malapit sa Ohio yan. Sa States." Can't resist any longer, I burst out saying: "Nasa sa New Zealand po yun..." The guy (God bless his innocence) looked at me and said: "Seaman ka ba sir? Mukhang Chiefmate ka na,ah!"

Hay... I could tell you all stories about me barred by the guards in Churachandpur from getting inside the clinic and office -- because I look like Meitei or the time I was mistaken as a Japanese in Melbourne (by another japanese!). This just simply justify the FACT, that I could really work for the CIA.

Career change?

Fun, fun. Joy, joy.

Ironic Man: The Curious Case of The Reader With The Hang Over (or simply, Me in Manila)

After more than 2 months of intense hibernation, the grizzly bear slowly awakes and attacks. the smell of a new season gently seeps into his cave, giving him thoughts of food and pleasures for his taking. The hunger is getting stronger, the need more imminent. He is ready to pounce on anything that fancies his discerning eye. He is ready.

And then he caught a rather nasty case of flu so went back to bed and sleep for another winter.

Life.

Just when I am about to go for a rather long holiday, i got this rather weird flu: My nbose (yeah you read it as you see it) is combgesteb with the wonderful air from Manila, my body is aching from my toes to the tips of my hair, my eyes look like Dopey after a pipe of Hash with Snow White. Heck, imagine all the seven dwarfs in one guy!

So just when I have the inspiration to tread the paved stinking streets of Manila, armed with an umbrella (it's raining intermittently), a pack of condoms (hey, who knows, I might be lucky), flip flops (it is flooding around Ermita --- yuck, imagine all the goos flushed having an interpersonal relationship with my feet!) and a determination to spend at least a thousand bucks a day --- I got this flu!

(Isn't it ironic, don't you think? It's like rain on your wedding day.....it's a free ride....)

Thank you Alanis Morrissette for putting into undying words and music what I feel. I think I should put you up there with my favorite artists along with Pirot (remember Pronvincial Jail?), Snoop Dogg and Judy Ann Santos singing a lullaby.

Great.

Might as well torture me with watching pinoy teleserye.

Geeky and Loving It

I honestly think that I have been processing a lot of useless information. I believe it is my love for trivia that pre-empted this, and it has been down hill since.

Recently, I have been giving a lecture to the staff in one of our morning IEC's (Information, Education and Communication). I blurted out that the longest word in the medical dictionary is PNEUMONOULTRAMICROSCOPICSILICOVOLCANOCONIOSIS and the longest non-medical word is SUPERCALIFRAGILISTICEXPIALIDOCIOUS. I mean, I literally basked in the "knowing"that such words exist. Nerd.

I blame the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew. I blame Agatha Christie. I blame all the authors, mentors and even Filipino showbiz personalities that have shaped my minds. I blame Who Wants To be A Millionaire. I blame The Weakest Link (which, by the way I won back in 1999). I blame the New York Times for the weekly puzzles.

For someone growing up and not being invloved in physical sports, the mind games were all I had. Geek.

On the brighter side, I was actually proud of being a bit of a nerd. In one occassion, I attended a high-end party given by the British High Commissioner in Vanuatu. There were a lot of stiffed upper lips in the crowd and a lot of wannabes as well. And there I was, sipping red wine and having cheese mingling with the crowds and trying to be with the "in"crowd. And all of a sudden this guy from the upper east side of London said something about the mating habits of the primates in central africa. The poor guy had no clue that this is actually a conversation killer. But guess who came to the rescue? Moi! So I conversed with him the natural destiny of primates in diverse situations amidst the gawks and the gaping mouths. Hah! How nerdy can you be?

Super Geek to the rescue.

And so it was that the processing these unuseful information has become a tragic event for me. Sweet, but tragic. And that, my friend is the irony of it.

Did you know that.....

for norie and chito

i had a nice fun time last night.

it was one of the few moments that i really enjoyed since coming home on a emergency break. with norie, who was on a "lagare" -- being omnipresent in the hundreds of activities that she's involved in, and chito, who flew in from cebu-bohol trip, harrased, haggard and still hyper -- going out for dinner is not only enjoyable but memorable as well.

the fun began when we went to this japanese resto i recommended (i ate there last year and it was fine). the waiter serving us could have been a model for the naruto series or those dragonball z villains. plucked eyebrows, pasty skin and thin-ness kate moss would have been jealous of - he was apologizing all the time for what is not available in the menu. after two rounds of sashimi and getting the last order of the night, i thought that the food was not so spectacular at all. oh but the coversations we had were. (maybe because i was the one speaking most of the time... hmmm...norie?)

it started with a trip down the memory lane: norie bickering about the ONLY time she fed me in vanuatu, me complaining about her lack of food in her fridge (she only has tomatoes!!!!) and me going out to the market at 7 am on a sunday, chito giving me the dish on the latest happenings and of the fun times drinking kava. hayyy... missing na lang si bong. pero mabait kami because we were so kind not to have mutilated nonoy through our conversations.

following the dinner, norie wanted to have some wine (though she will have an early morning flight the next day) and INSISTED that we should go and join her. afterall, it was her post-birthday celebration. guilt-trip. we went into one of these al fresco bars and not finding wine, we ended up with san miguel light. more kwento. i don't know if it was the atmosphere or me being with my friends that, i felt so relaxed.

since it was norie's birthday, chito and i gave her some wishes -- which i will not reveal here. akala mo, ha? but seriously, i love these guys. i am thankful for them, for being them and for being there. they were with me through the tough and fun times, and through all those times when i really needed preynds. we may not see each other or talk with each other but i know, nandiyan lang ang mga yan. ang nagagawa nga naman ng kava!

happy birthday norie. salamat sa t-shirt, to-chits. sa susunod, mag bi-beer house tayo!

a crisis like no other

the morning i received the news that my mother was unwell and was in the hospital, i felt that same uneasy grip on my stomach when i had giardia. i felt like my bowels would turn and do a pirouette. it felt like the news you have been dreading -- you know it is going to happen -- but you just don't want to hear it.

a couple of years ago, i have had that same feeling when i heard that my father had a stroke. i was in malawi, just about finishing 6 months of endless work (that is another story). i was stressed, burnt out and was up to my heels with the slightest call of leaving the country. as soon as i heard that news, i immediately packed my bags and left for iloilo. it was the most casual departure from a project i ever had. there were no goodbyes, no sad tears and no exchange of email addresses.

anyway, upon arriving in iloilo, i was attacked by my family (my father's family, actually). i was accused of being irresponsible and uncaring, arrogant and without a heart. i could have said that i was running a hospital for people with hiv/aids and displaced people in africa, but i just kept mum about it. what's the use? i think i should not dwell about this here -- i have moved on.

so when i heard the news that my mother was sick, the thoughts of my family attacking me again came rushing through. Me, being the only doctor in the family -- is so far away serving other people when i could be serving my family. guilt. guilt. guilt.

i remember a long time ago, when one of my mentors said: "you can choose your friends, but not your family." this has been so true in my case. sad, but true. i can't deny the fact, however, that despite the misdemeanors and mistakes that we all have, they are still my family.

my mother is well now. recuperating and enjoying the company of her sons and grandchildren. she encourages me to continue my work. she is proud of what i am doing and what i have achieved. and at the end of the day, that is all that matters.

i could go around the world knowing that i have my mother's love.

Vacation Views, Anyone?

I have more than an hour before the clinic starts and more than five hours to decide whether I should suffer muscular fatigue and adrenaline boost with our contemplated sports activity this afternoon.

I can not hide my anticipation for my last few months in India. It has been almost a year since I went home or was home in the Iloilo, Philippines. I could just savor Batchoy or the endless array of sea foods at Tatoy's or the Bulalo at theMarina's....and the cold San Miguel beer! I mean, common! If this is something that you don't look forward to, I wonder what is!

Salivating from that thought, I was thinking where I should be going for my remaining holidays. Sure, I do have 89 days left ( to be exact), but I still have 14 days (excluding weekends and official holidays) left to soak my liver up to the possible limit it could take.

So, where would I go? There are very limited places that we can go (as Filipinos) that doesn't require a visa. Let's look at the possibilities.

1. Bangkok. It's about 400 dollars round trip from Calcutta, but I could fairly say that the "been there, done that" dictum plays here. I have been everywhere and anywhere in Bangkok and have had the "experience" to last me a lifetime... (Considering I have 21 lives, I might go back again and again)

2. Kathmandu, Nepal. Think of the movie The Lost Horizon. Olivia Hussey in Shangrila. Wow. I just need to pay 35 dollars visa fee on arrival.

3. The Maldives. Beach-y. But according to some reliable sources, I would need someone to "be with" and watch the sunset. Heck I want to be drunk! Maybe those size-challenged tourists would like nicer...

4. India. I haven't been to Rajastan and Ladakh and Pondicherry. I would love to -- but I am so sick with the Indian food!!! Sobra na, Tama na!

5. Dubai. Requires visa and would be the perfect place to lounge the whole day in the hotel room ordering room service, surfing the internet and watching tv. Oh, of course, they have amazing man made beaches.

So there..

I have to close this. I have to go and save the world.

Don't tell anyone I am superman.

Being Involved In The Big S

Today is the day that my life changes.
I am going to play sports.
I have been psych-ing myself the past few days and even rationalized on my other colleagues’ lack of physical strength and lack of interest to be in the game. I have been doing sit-ups in the morning and push-ups when I feel the need to boost my flagging morale and ever growing belly. How many sit-ups and push-ups I CAN do? Four full sit-ups and nine push-ups. I don’t want to be hurt….
Some checklist before actually volleying this afternoon:
1. first aid kit (do you know that next to cleanliness, preparedness is also next (next) to godliness?)
2. sun block (India is the spawning ground from skin cancer)
3. water bottle (athletes perform better with adequate – not too much – hydration)
4. health insurance card (who knows – I might need it)
5. camera (to capture those winning Kodak moments)
There! Hopefully, if I find this (activity) satisfying and rewarding enough, I’d have a different career plan by the end of the year.
I wonder if Pacquaio needs a student?

Giving Facebook A Face

i have been addicted to facebook recently. although i have but 117 friends (and counting), i am updated with what's happening where and when and with who. i think this has become the social scenario of the millenium, the link to whoever's past and present and to some extent, the future. it is a nice avenue to track friends from elementary days, the odd peeps from high school and the cool guys from college, the groups mates from medical school, the beer buddies from work and just about anybody who has been a part of your life.

anyways, i don't sign in as often as i wanted to - just because the internet here in cool c'cpur is as slow as the apple falling on newton's head. but whenever i have the time (and the internet speed necessary) i log in and see what my fb friends are doing or planning.

what do i not like about facebook? the pics are polished but i couldn't get the smiles. i admit i have empty smiles too... maybe because i am too conscious that this is going to be posted in facebook. now where did those candid moments go? don't post anything that will show zits or surgical scars! a friend i know photoshops her pics first before posting. the photos look so glossy, i hardly recognize her.

that aside, it is nice to keep up with everyone. i have met (online of course) people who i share the same family name with, acquaintances from conferences of long ago, and the crushes who broke my young heart from yesteryears. and isn't it nice to see them fat and wrinkly like any other human being? life...

i don't know when the fad is going to end. definitely i shall be logging in every now and then to see what you are doing.

More Wedding Wonders

so there i was that fateful saturday... dressed up in one of my favorite shirts, faded jeans and leather shoes. i honestly thought i look like a chinese john wayne, just without the swagger and the spit. the plan was to attend the wedding, stay for an hour and slowly slip out and go back home. nice plan.

the event was supposed to start at 11 am, so we opted to "visit" at 1 pm when the ceremony has finished and the send-off has begun. Here in churachandpur, the bride will have a send off party, hosted by the bride's family (of course) where friends, neighbors and family members will have the last chance of "seeing"the bride with the family. After the send off party, she will be "fetched"by the dashing groom to live in a castle far away from the meddling in laws. or she would be living with her husbands parents, who she probably does not know or like. such fate!

while waiting for the 1 pm toll, i decided to go for lunch at the posh-iest place in town, hoping for my usual pork ribs and chowmien. there i was clickety-clacketing my way through the market, the bust station and the dusty streets of c'cpur in a get up my mother would be ashamed of.

the lunch was amazingly delicious and spicy - that was the best part of the day if you ask me. and at exactly 12:30 i went down to the send off party. half way through i met khaipu and seilen who escorted me and provided the "guarding" necessary for my attire.

at 1:15, there were no familiar faces yet and i was getting agitated. i called the other expats twice but it seems that someone's dress doesn't fit with the shoes. it's like: hey this isn't sex and the city and you are not carrie!.

so anyway, the ceremenony started and we were escorted to take a seat. thinking that it would be impossible for us to escape the ceremony if we were in the front part (facing the bride), i asked seilen and khaipu to sit with me at the back. I saw the smug smiles on the two guys -- and i thought - aha! they too, have plans!

the back part of the garden was covered with a tent and some pieces of beautiful cloth so it looked exclusive -- just us having a party, don't mind the neighbors look.

three minutes into the ceremony, seated at the back, i started to gag. not the one needing the heimlich, but the one when you smell something. i started joking to seilen that he should change his aftershave, but when i looked at him, he was covering his face -- apparently smelling something odd and fetid as well!

it was then that i noticed that the ground was covered in pig shit!

khaipu started to feel the wall behind the cloth and the tent and true enough, behind us was a pig sty! we stayed, for two minutes smiling and gagging in between, then raced off to the nearest door. halfway out, i met one more of our staff who greeted me (without batting an eyelash): "my you look human, today!"

i'll never attend any weddings here. not if i can help it.

Gracias, Companeros!

thanks to finn for the pic in the previous blog... and for following this blog.

thanks to norie and chito for always checking what's new here and for providing me with the latest jolog news..

thanks to terence for opening this blog (at last!!!) and saying it is "good"...

gracias mi amigos!

Weddings:Wonder or Woes?

i am attending my fourth wedding invitation here in manipur. i have been to different kinds of weddings all over the world - from the festive island wedding in vanuatu, to the orthodox christian ceremony in ethiopia, the quiet tribal/christian weddings in ccpur and recently the glamorous wedding in imphal. the recent one in imphal was nice and colorful, though we didn't stay for a long time.

i love weddings. it is a good time to see people in different states of emotions: happiness, especially the parents who'd probably thought "i finally got rid of this person after 30 years"; anxiety ("does this man snore when he sleeps?"); hope ("I finally snagged a man after a long wait"); anger ("why can't i marry sally?") and more anxiety ("how am i going to pay for all these?"). it is also a nice time to see all the glitters (bought, borrowed), the clothes (renovated, re-covered, re-layered and received) and the make -up (minimal, natural and over the top).

all in all, the ceremonyand the formalization is a wonderful event. i think it is nice to say vows and pledge that for the next 6 months i will not sleep with anyone else... or promise that i shall never leave you until the next one comes along.

in the philippines, which has been very americanized in terms of the whole sheebang, a bride MUST wear white. and have a blue garter (no less!) to throw it to the expecting bachelors (or ex-married guys) for the fun of finding his future bride. the event has become a pre-dating bonanza and a matching ceremony for those who are : (1) over 25 years old and not yet married (2) 20 years old and never had a relatioship (3) successful men/women who have the face of a horse (4) mommy's boy/daddy's girl (5) stuck to internet porn (6) masculine women/feminine men (7) was in previously bad relationship and (8) just about for anybody who plays the game.

i know you sense some bitterness in my tone. hehehe. so i have to stop here before i destroy the romantics in you. but should the day come for me to get married, you can rub this blog on my face and say: "that's what you get!".

if there is one thing i love about weddings and you really have to press me on this, i would answer: free food and booze. tough choice, but hey, one's gotta live!

The Ultimate Crisis

i had my first three gray hairs yesterday pulled out. i thought i am invincible, eternally young, pure but seeing those three measly gray hairs made me realized how mortal i could be!

at the end of my 30's i proudly say that despite the thining hairline (which could be remedied by sporting a short hair cut and wearing caps), i never have had gray hairs. despite my pun of my every growing belly, i have always maintained a size 31-32 waist line. and despite of my little fuck ups here and there, i boast of my very sharp memory, and an occasionally acidic wit.

anyways, there we were in the clinic, on a sunny but dusty manipuri afternoon that while bending over some charts that needed reviewing, someone noticed that i have gray hairs. and like a scene in a movie, i dropped the files and asked for a mirror. khaipu who was there en route to shalom hospice, volunteered to pull them out. sad, but that is minus three out of my 120, 459 head hairs left.

after clinic, i headed to the array of pharmacies outside of the district hospital to look for a hair dye. as i was about to purchase one, i remembered how vain it would be for me to jump at this sad thought! i smiled at the sales person and asked for alprazolam instead. i may have gray hairs, but tonight, i shall be sleeping fine.

and looking closely at it, i may look nice with gray hairs. wisdom personified. watch out george clooney.

Midnight Ramblings

it's 12:52 am and i can't sleep. i seemed to have slept too much this afternoon, trying to nurse my hang over. now, my adrenaline is way beyond the meter and i have no means of stopping it. let me look again as to what i took for my freaking head ache: 2 cups of double esspreso, a mug of brewed coffee, several mugs of tea, 3 bottles of yakult (yes... there is yakult in defence colony market in delhi), 2 grams of paracetamol (i have allergies to ibuprofen) and a liter of coke.

oddly, with the serene surroundings (odd for defence colony) and with a tolerable internet speed, i have browsed, chatted, uploaded pics and read "histories" from philippine dailies. and yes, my dear... i did not browse porn pages. and oddly too, that i seemed to have lost interest looking at these (porn) pages. i must be really getting old... but certainly not religious.

going back to the philippine news, i just learned that: a) francis magalona died of leukemia b) jolina separated from her boyfriend (did you know about this chito???) and c) i missed a lot of showbiz scandals! it seems like this is not THE me telling you this but then i was away for almost a year now and hadn't had the opportunity to look at local showbiz news. anyways, nothing's lost -- i am going home this july.

so here i am typing the hours away hoping for the sand fairy to come and bring me to Noddywinks. good this is sunday...

okay bring in the news boy (abunda)....

Some Action Pics....

Some of my recent favorite pics... of me! Hope you like them too! These were taken in various clinics in Manipur.

March Miscellaneous

Oh my God!

It's been almost a month since I have blogged. I have been insanely busy with work and sleep was the only vice (aside from an occasional round of rum and coke) I could ever wish for. The good news is that I have finished at least half of the tasks; the bad news is that, another half ton of work fills it up. Life in fast laned Manipur...

I am asking permission from a friend (a photographer) to allow me to use some of his pics (which he took of me) for this blog.... no repsonse yet.. But this pics are amazing! He knows I love black and white pics and he is a master of his trade, definitely! So until then, I'll let you all salivate on the thought of his art.

Officially, I have extended my agreement for a few months more. That makes me leave India on July 10, then proceed to Amsterdam for de-briefing and then, hopefully to Hong Kong for another de-briefing. By the time this finishes, I have to buy a new set of underwear. Too much de-briefing makes my Jack a cold boy!

I am very interested to volunteer to the MSF acrivities currently being done in Mindanao. Recently, the insurgency activities have gone sky high - topping with the kidnapping of three ICRC personnel. I have read reports that there are so many IDPs (internally displaced people) scattered in various areas of Mindanao.... Sad that something like this is happening in our own backyard...

Well... that's it for now.. I am going back to my nap and to nurse this nagging hang over!

Tsibai !!!

I am back in Manipur after almost a month of being away. I haven't forgotten that I have not written here since Brussels, but I just didn't have the time to sit and type my evenings away. That - and the fact that the internet has been on a snail pace mode the past week.

There is a lot to write about --- daily challenges, post-Brussel blues, lost packages of Belgian chocolates, and most importantly - how the hell am I going to bring all my favorite things back home when I finish my mission here!

I have some ideas already but none seem to be good (yet).... but anyway that will have to wait for a couple of months more. And since this blog will be here for a longer time, I'll beg off writing for now.

I am late for my badminton match.

Official Belgian Beer Review

Okay... Just before we go down to the foamy news, let me check on a few things:

1. Mind well rested - check!

2. Photos up loaded to faceboook - done!

3. Hot bath - done!

4. Note on beer tasting experience - here!

I am sad to say that I haven't tasted 300+ beers... I just didn't have five stomachs, the ability of rock stars to drown themselves with barrels of alcohol, nor the money to finish my beer tasting scheme everynight whilst in Brussels. I am sure I have tasted less than 20 (including the fruit beers -- which to me are awful! -- see pic here!), and although I think I could have done more, I have to limit myself to 3 pints a night. And come to think of it, I don't know if there is anybody (including Belgians, themselves) who have tasted 300 varieties of brew.. The first beer I tasted was a Kapittel tripel. I was "hit" immediately seconds after I tasted it. But my taste changed as the days went on (and on and on).

So how did I fare? I think I handled the pallettes (a tray of 5 varieties of beer) very well, though I enjoyed the taps (draught beer) very much. Beer price ranges from 1,20 euro to 7 euros, depending on the size and type of beer. And like I said, I hated the pinkish fruit beers because they taste like cough syrups! I like anything with a double or a triple blonde or anything that is dark amber in color.

And what are my favorite Belgian beers? Here is my official list, un-prejudiced and based entirely on palatal gustations. Here it is in a very particular order:

1. Dubbels -- examples are the Westmalle trappist and Witkap. They are amber in color and alcohol content ranges from 6-8%.

2. Abbey beers - Grimbergen is on top two of my list, and this is followed by Leffe.

3. Trappist beer -- (probably because they were brewed in Trappist monasteries???) like Chimay and Westmalle (again)... Also Orval, Rochefort and Achel.

4. The blondes -- not all blonds are fun... but Duvel is worthy mentioning here. Brigand is also nice - after meals.

5. Trippel (3x the % alcohol) -- includes Rochefort which is nice if you don't walk 20 minutes in freezing snow after.

6. The etcetera -- I didn't really like them but I tasted them nevertheless. These are Kriek (made from cherries -- I remember what you said Greetje!!!), Palm (which is a ladies' beer, but I liked it because it doesn't taste fruity), Brugs (common but nice!), Adler (also common), Lindemans.

Well... have you counted how many I have tried?

5. Beer in hand -- this I forgot.

Gotta go. Writing made me thirsty.

Adventures in Belgium

Well... here I am in cold Bruxelles having my third glass of Grimbergen double blond (6,7% alcohol). The day had been tough as we were discussing issues like sexual gender based violence (SGBV) and reproductive tract infections. In fact the past week had been tough too. There were a lot of activities and practical stuff that -- truthfully -- one can learn in a semester -- and we crammed all of it in a week. Some of the topics were familiar as I have been exposed to them in my previous missions, but the nitty gritty things (which I don't need to mention here) were all star trek language to me. And okay.. let's not talk about these things here. It is better that you know that there are more than 300 varieties of Belgian Beer!!!

As soon as the snow was out (like it deterred us from going to pubs at night!!!), I went shopping and bar hopping in downtown with some of the workshop participants. Now, we are a funny bunch: 20 females:3 males. Talk about pressure, here!hehehe. But honestly, I feel like the group has known each other for a long time. There are no hang ups and no prima donnas.

My colleagues here are pretty cool. We talk just about anything, argue about some issues and agree on a lot of things including our beers (and dancing). So here are some pics which were taken during the past week. Hope you all like them! And just something more before I go.... Tomorrow we go bar hopping again in down town B. I am hoping to taste my 16th type of beer!

Belgian Snow

It has been snowing since last night and the temperature has gone done to -11 degrees centigrade. It has been difficult for me to adjust at the sudden change in temperature -- sure, India had been cold the past few days but ----- this is one is extreme! I took a picture of me (of course at 7:30 am when it started snowing (note the background on the last pic -- and see the snow falling) and some more pics at 11 am. Sadly, I didn't bring winter clothes as I left most of my (wonderful) jackets in Manipur. But, well... life goes...

I'll post more pics in the next few days....

Bye for Brussels

Well, after weeks of holding my breath -- I am finally leaving for Brussels tonight. I have finished some of the work that needs to be done, although I honestly feel that there is still so much not done. I will be away from Manipur for a long time (three weeks) because I am going for a holiday after the training/workshop. The picture is the place where I'll be staying along with 19 outer participants. It is called Maison Notre-Dame du Chant d'Oiseau, a name I think I have a hard time pronouncing. But this is going to be home for the next weeks!

Anyways, I have already a plan as to what to do and where to go during the time that I will be in Europe. Weekends in Paris and Amsterdam and then off to Rome on the last day. Whew.. the had life of a traveler.

I shall, of course keep on blogging so every whining, praising, crying, death-defying moments will be informed to you. Yes you.

So bye for today as by tomorrow, I will be Brussels, Belgium.

Did I mention they alledge to be making the best beer in the world?

Plans For An Indian Holiday

Today is a holiday in the whole of India. It is Republic Day -- though as a foreigner, I don't exactly know what it means. For me, it could be one of those days when I could lounge away watching movies after movies after movies, leaving bed only for necessary activites (eat, shit and piss, of course!!) and rocking myself to dream land sporadically. Best yet, because it is a Monday!

But... here I am facing the office computer trying to finish the 4M order. And truthfully, I hadn't slept at all last night! (I watched 6 movies non-stop from 8 pm onwards... this morning I started on season 2 of Californication).

I don't think it is a masochistic tendency. I just have to finish this and move on to other responsibilities before I leave for Brussels this Saturday. And just looking at the list of things I have to do (with big bold red letters labelled PRIORITY on most of them), I feel I just don't have enough time. Or probably the energy....

Worst -- I haven't packed yet. I know you'll probably say this dude is weird: he will leave days from now and he is talking about packing? Well, another psychiatric side of me is that I prepare my "wardrobe"days (some times weeks) before I leave. Like when I was in Myanmar, two months before I leave the project, I had already sorted, packed in nice folds all the shirts and jeans I want to bring back home. If there is a favorite shirt, I'd wash it (myself) 4 days beforehand and then pack day on the day I will leave. I think this is good because you (read: me in this context) tend to organize things and don't get frazzled by time constraints.

So anyway... these are my scattered projections for the day... Back to work!

Do you think the peripheral clinics will need more methyergometrine this quarter?

Whose Line Is It, Anyway?

After spending the day reviews medical stocks, I decided to have a nap. As I was browsing through some old magazines hoping to fall asleep amidst the hum of the office generator, one particular article caught my ever-discerning eye: “How to have an effective pick-up line.” Not that I need one desperately, but having been around different people from different nationalities had me thinking maybe I should read this – just in case I need one – someday.

The pick up lines in that article on MW (India’s Men’s Weekly) were not only cheesy but some were downright vulgar. Example: (Use index finger to call one over and then say:) “If I made you come with come with one finger, imagine what I could do with my whole hand.” Yuckk…. Or… “Hi, my name is Milk. I do your body good.” I know some of you might be screaming in your seats right now saying : “what the …” but hey! Let’s face it. In these modern times where relationships mean zilch to a metrosexual, having a good pick up line assures someone of having their needs actually met. At least for that time.

Somewhat related to this, a couple of years ago, in Malawi, in one of the welcome parties I have attended in the capital (Lilongwe), there was a game played (the name of the game escapes me for now) where we all sit in a circle ( about 5 or 6 persons) and you throw a question and every one has to answer. Example: Movies by Quentin Tarrantino. If someone can’t answer then he/she will be a “slave” for a couple of minutes. Pick up lines was one of the categories.

So in honor of these witty (less) remarks, I tried remembering the worst ones my friends and acquaintance had used at certain times of their lives…. And believe me dude, I haven’t used one, yet (defensive? – nope). Here are the dozen cheesy notes, posted in no particular category. Bravo for making me remember them all!

1. I had a wet dream about you last night. Would you like to make it a reality?
2. I’d like to name a multiple orgasm after you.
3. I’ve got a condom with your name on it.
4. That shirt’s very becoming on you. If I were on top of you, you’d be coming too.
5. There are 265 bones in the human body. Would you like to have one more?
6. Are you good in maths? Is 69 a perfect square?
7. Are you lost ma’am? Coz heaven’s along way from here.
8. Did it hurt? …when you fell down from heaven?
9. Can I borrow a quarter? I need to call my mother to tell her I met the woman of my dreams.
10. Hello… I’m a thief and I am here to steal your heart.
11. I have only three months to live….
12. Bond. James Bond.

Waddayathink? You think you could deliver these lines smoothly? Or are you puking your guts out at the intense drama of today’s courtship?

Journey To The Center Of The ... Eeek!

It is 3 am and I am still awake. I have started on 10-days PAP (prohibited area permission) journeys from Manipur to New Delhi. I am sleepy and tired but I don't want to close my eyes because I know that as soon as I wink -- it will be a nod to dreamland.

I have been here in Delhi since last week for PAP and Visa reasons (my Indian visa expires on the 25th). Just being away from the project fills me with a lot of anxiety over the tasks and responsibilities I need to do just before I leave (again) next week for PAP reasons and for my training in Brussels.

Honestly, I thought it was cool to travel regularly - lesser work-related stress, more shopping and sight seeing. Recently, I realized that with the regular round of airport visitations, you can never get things done and work clogs up.

Anyways, here I am , waiting for the driver to pick me up and having a last go on my blog. And so I say, not only hasta la vista, but here's wishing for lesser air pockets, baby.

Did I tell you I snore when I'm tired?

Giving In To Techno Temptation

I didn't want to say it and I have been keeping it for some time from you guys, but I guess it is safe to let the cat out of the bag. My gadget itch struck again while I was in Delhi. Of course I know that there was a need to buy a new lap top (my old one is still working but totally battered) and my want is so great I had to skimp on a few necessities. It took me three days to think and mope about it, but in the end I succumb to the techno temptation.

I bought an HP pavilion entertainment lap top (don't ask me of the model) which has amazing features: 3 GB RAM, superDVD, 3.2 meg web cam, finger print identification system, Nvidia graphics, etc... it was love at first buy. The sound is crisp, clear and loud: perfect for a music lover like moi.

I am so inspired to work on my lap top that I often forget it is time to go back home. At the house, I would either pitter-patter on the soft keys and have a continuous download of movies, music and software. Worst, Finn showed me a better way to get them so for the past few days, I was hooked.

Anyways, I promised myself that I would never salivate for another gadget. This would be the last --- this quarter. For now, let me go back and moon over my new baby.

Signing off.

Reviving A Dying Relationship

Two days ago, I had a long chat with a friend I haven't seen (and heard of) for a long time. Chat at this time and age do not mean sitting down and talk face to face (of course, some do it with a camera), but sitting and typing our hearts away. What started as a "hi-hello" , ended with thoughts about long lost loves and coping with the stressful search for sweethearts.

So X (he doesn't want me to mention his name) has been "separated" from his wife, four months after their wedding to work in the US. He is processing his papers, but since this takes time, he continues to do his work in the the Philippines. (A background: x was a school mate in the university, he used to date one of the girls from my class but nothing came out of that for reasons I do not know.) After a year and half of waiting for his papers and intermittently meeting his wife, he decided to call it quits. He said he got "tired".

I probed further on the matter, because you can't say get the hell out of my life to someone for nothing. He was evasive to the point that he was irritated by my questions. In the end, I said my good luck and wished him happiness.

I really don't understand relationships. I know that success in a relationship depends on a lot of things. Mostly it would be on a case to case basis, but the general ingredients should be there: love, trust and the willful desire to make things work out.

My "friend" must have his reasons and he must have NOT seen what he had. Probably it wasn't love at all. Probably it was something else. I have seen people get married for convenience, and I have seen people wrap their hearts in iron cages for the sake of those conveniences.

But that is beside the point. For someone like me who spends a lot of time away from people, including my family, I have yet to learn how to revive a dying relationship and let go when the moment comes. As a doctor, we were taught how to rescucitate the dying -- and when you see the point of no return -- you just have know when to stop. It is a tricky thing for a lot (including me) to hold on to long term relationships HOPING that it might come alive, long after everyone realized that what you are having is buried six feet under. We tend to rationalize, then bargain but most of us never come to accepting the fact that something is supposed to be over.

Love can be forever... and I am so happy for those people who have found themselves in love with the same person. But the recent roll of events has made me question the aspects of love and being in love. I am not cynical. I am a realist. It would certainly hurt the living shit of me should I fall out of a relationship, but that it is life and I have to move on.

Maybe when I find the answer to these I can have a more sturdy look on love and relationships... Maybe it would be the end to queries about mid-life love- panic attacks. And maybe then I could give my "friend" a better advice.

For Anam: A Greeting

It is Anam's birthday today so I'd like to dedicate a special post for him.

I met Anam in Maungdaw, Northern Rakhine State, Myanmar, last year when I was assigned there. He was supposed to be my translator/personal assistant but we ended up as brothers. I told him that was snubbish when I first met him... making me find it so hard to work on weekends because he would find alibis not to work. Of course I understand that it takes a lot of trust for friendship to settle in and trust takes time. After that it was all easy. He arranged my schedule, followed me whereever I go (as long as it is within the travel authorizations) and his family fed me up whenever I come for a visit. We shared t-shirts and other stuff during MMDs (mobile malaria days), had several rounds of beers somewhere, and talked about personal stuff like there was no ending. He knew when I am angry (he keeps quiet when I start to raise my voice), adjusts when I am lonely and sad, listens to my wild ranting about work and people in the office and introduced me to people and places and things other expats would never have the chance to. It is probably because of my friendship with him that I was endeared by the staff and was welcomed by the Muslim community in Maungdaw.

Looking back, I wouldn't have change anything -- he was one of the many people who made my work easier and my stay in Myanmar more memorable. Long after I finished in Myanmar, we still keep in touch, and update ourselves with daily changes in our lives.

So here's to a deeply nice guy who I wish will find success in whatever he does and whereever he goes. You are one of a kind and I am so lucky to have known you. Happy birthday....

Out and About in Delhi

I spent two nights partying in Delhi.

The first night was in a place called Stones in Defense Colony. Stones is my favorite hang out whenever I'm in town. It has the ambiance and the comfort I am looking for in a bar. It is where I would take someone out for a date, or bring friends for a conversation or for after-work relaxation. Anyways, I met Jui and her nice friends - three successful and intelligent girls (2 are lawyers and the other is a publicist). I never had a spontaneous and interesting conversation for such a long time! We talked about movies, relationships, women 'empowerment', books - just basically anything!

Last night, I went out with my colleagues to do bar-hopping in Greater Kailash N block. We stopped first at this place called Mannekin. It was so surreal as the music being played were from the golden 80's. Me growing up in that decade means I have to shake and raise the roof. It was fun not only tasting the drinks (I had a B52, a white russian, mojito and a huge glass of rum and coke). The fun part was the dancing (of course) and just hanging out with cool guys. Jui brought us to a different bar but the scene was not as nice as the former. In the second place, there were a lot of yuppies and you can (actually) smell the hormones floating in the air. So after a drink (which was around 1 am already), we decided to shift to a different place. Now there are not so many places in Delhi opened until the wee hours of the morning for party rats like us. In desperation (!) we asked one of the guys leaving (for home, probably) where the next best place would be. This turned out to be a disco in Hotel Ashok. It was a big disappointment. Just before we entered they asked for 2000 rupees - each - which they said can be consumed for drinks. For already half-drunk guys coming from different dry states here in India, did that stop us? Hell, no! Anyways, the disco was not as enticing as expected, there were ladies of questionable intentions, there were men of more questionable intentions and the music was Hindi all through out.

So after saying in this "uninteresting" place for 3 hours and several glasses of rum and coke, we decided to hit the road. Good thing that Jui's cousin has a car which squeezed the five drunk dancers in. Olivier who happened to have an early flight had barely a few minutes left to collect his luggage and proceed to the airport. I didn't even had the chance to say bye as I was too wasted to get out of bed.

What have I learned from all these? My current maxim would be: "Work hard, party harder.". Ah life in cosmopolitan Delhi.

Slumdogging Along

There is a big hype about Slumdog Millionaire not only here in India, but also in most of the movie-watching world.... and I understand why. I was privy to have watched the movie, prior to its release this coming January 23 in India - thanks to a friend.

The movie is amazing in the way the story unfolds and the way it was presented. It is a simple yet effective, touching yet not heavy, socially conscious but not probing. It is a love story - with Who Wants to be a Millionaire as a backdrop. It is a story of hope and persistence. A story that most would identify themselves with because it is a story of the human spirit overcoming the worst of situations and winning in the end. I will not tell the story here so as not to spoil the interests of other people. I would like to praise the actors, particularly the children, who I believe are simply magnificent. Dev Patel, who played the lead actor is quite good for a first timer and so is Irfan Khan (who I think is the best actor in India) as the police inspector. I not a big fan of Freida Pinto, but she has proven here that beauty can have talents - given the proper vehicle and director.

Another nice thing about this movie is that it is not your usual Bollywood genre. There is a dance at the end of the movie and (set in Mumbai train station) and it was just perfect to end the movie in a lighter note.

Mumbai is presented in its darkest sense - slums, gangsters, sex trade. Danny Boyle directed like he had been living here for a long time. He presented the movie like a man who has been eating chapatis and momos in the streets of Mumbai.

Anyways, it would be good for anyone to watch the movie.... I feel Dev Patel's fear sitting on the Millionaire hot seat (I remember my game show days, hehehe). I understand his brother's (his name escapes me now) wish for forgiveness. I feel for the children's strong sense of survival.

Have a go at the cinema. Enjoy the gem of a movie that is Slumdog. I did.

Wistful Working

There are so many reasons why I haven't written anything for the past few days.

Just after my birthday, we got entangled in this beautiful work called 12 M (basically it's a report for activities the past year and interpreting data -- to know whether we have achieved the indicators). It was a priority so we have to push aside other things, including blogging. After a while of looking at rows after rows of different parameters defining a project, I kind of got the beat and we finished 3 days before the deadline. What was gross were the layers of toilet paper used for blowing my nose. As you know, I had a super flu (which lasted for exactly 16 days) and had to bear through working in the clinics and waking up early in the morning listening to church songs. I even sounded funny in a Ray Charles sort of way. The difference is that I say mayodays instead of mayonaise.

The other thing which got me worked up was the evaluations. The hardest part of this job is to find one hundred and twenty ways to say "you suck at your job" without being so harsh and judgmental. So, I ended up saying things like: "scratching your balls when you don't have work is not productive.." Kidding. Truth is, I learned the art of asking subliminal (i don't know if that is the proper word) questions and have the staff answer me back positively. So I would ask: "what do you think you should do when you don't have data to enter?" And I got a response: "Buy paan (betel nut concoction) and go to the clinic". I didn't like the paan part, but he got into the clinic part, so that was okay --- a bit.

I also got to read ancient protocols and felt like Indiana Jones trying to decipher the reasons why it was written in the first place. Right now, I am trying to finish the ANC (ante-natal clinic) protocol, written three doctors ago.

And so it came to pass that on my 16th birthday, I got to do a lot of work. But I am in Delhi now so I get to do a bit of truancy....and of course, shopping.

Enough of this and now.... back to work!

Bits and Pieces 2: Post Birthday Comments

Thanks for all those who sent greetings during my 16th birthday. Yap! Hard as it may seem to admit, this little boy has grown. Most of you guys, I miss terribly! I haven't seen or talk to you for ages and yet you remembered.... (hear the sound of my tears gently falling).

Marie, there's a lot of vodka left... in fact, it was the most sober birthday I ever had in my life. Of course, this does not count when I was a year old. Norie (and maybe.... just maybe.. Chito...) thanks for the greetings a day in advance!

My MSF-Hong Kong family who sent an email and a fax with all the office staff signing in there (hey.. I don't even know some of the guys in there!)...

Susan!!!! Thanks for following this blog! I wasn't a bit embarassed about the Japanese porn. I guess all comes to a "cleansing"process when I admitted that I have it in my room. And you know what, Miyabi wants to see it too!

Anam and Soyet Alom, thank you so much for calling me. It must have felt weird knowing that the intelligence guys from Myanmar listening to our conversation. I could have sworn that there was another voice trying to understand the high English flying through the networks.

Lastly, I thank my guys here in Manipur, lead of course by the great Miss P and my dude Finn. Thanks for confirming (or re-affirming) my love for little alcohol, Sheila, for the sweet necklace, Miyabi for the noodles (Banzai.. long life!) and of course Michelle! Thanks also goes to Parul, my friend in Delhi and to Chandrika (meaning moonlight) for such an extravagant gesture!

I love you guys... Blessed is the man who has friends!

For Peggy: Whereever you may be...

Peggy was killed on my birthday. She would have been 5 months now and her sweet life was sacrificed on the 5th of Jauary.
I arrived last August 19 here in Churachandpur. She was offered to me out of goodwill by one of the staff. I, of course said no, as i am working in a humanitarian organization. Her parents died a horrible death and she, together with 5 other siblings were placed in different homes. She was the cutest thing I ever saw... fair skin, and a smile that could melt anyone's heart. I promised, however to support her by providing some money on a monthly basis. it was not much, but I thought that as an outsider, this is the best that I could do.
I visited her every now and then, bringing some presents-- and she always meet me with vim and vigor -- so full of life! Her carers, friends of mine, were happy that I was apart of her growing up. We taught her things, I read her books. She was growing up to be a nice lady.
A couple of days before my birthday, her adoptive father came and asked if I "wanted"her. I said no, of course. I couldn't bear having her. Never.
And so it came that my birthday was celebrated with less than a hundred people hungry for anything, that Peggy was sacrificed. Peggy, my 60 kilo pig was killed to feed my staff. I was left with no choice -- it's her or Neko (our house dog and guardsman).
Peggy, no matter where you are thank you. It was a memorable day and your death made a lot of people satiated. Barbaric, but in this world where one is worth the last meal he had, it was atrue sacrifice on your part.
Thank God I still have Pat your brother for my farewell party....

New Year Abba-minations

Kum thah chibai!

The new year has gotten the best of me. After having an excellent italian dinner (pasta, pizza and salad), we drowned ourselves on rum and coke, and the activity before the countdown was watching Mamma Mia -- singing to the songs by Abba (here I go again, my,my.. how can I resist you?).

It was a bit of a weird feeling sitting around with cool guys singing to the best (or the worst, depending on how you see it) of the Abba. So ironic seeing the cool beaches of Greece and us covered in several layers of clothing , huddling next to the miniscule mei-po (mini-fire place). Three minutes before the year ended, we paused the screen and rushed to the third floor balcony (probably hoping for fireworks??). Rum and coke in hand, we greeted each other happy new year amidst a back ground of prayers.

Huh?

Churachandpur, as I have mentioned before is a Christian district. Before the Christmas season started several churches around the block have already "epiphanized" us with morning songs and late evening prayers. Did I mention the drums? So the prayer is in a monotonous tone "sung"with the beating of the drums. And oh, yeah, there is a prompter on a microphone saying the parts of the hymn -- just in case someone from the choir forgets the words.

Going back to the new year celebration, it was blessed enough for us to go back down and do a karaoke of the Abba songs until 1:45 am. Of course, I didn't go to sleep till 4 am when the choir in the three neighbouring churches had a tea break. And it was rock and roll thereafter.

And so it was that another year came and passed. Different would be the word for it. Unforgetable? Pass me the rum before I say anything again.