TAON 91
BILANG 4
BIYERNES, HULYO 12, 2013
PHILIPPINE COLLEGIAN Opisyal na lingguhang pahayagan ng mga mag-aaral ng Unibersidad ng Pilipinas, Diliman
NOWHERE MAN
Alan P. Tuazon
Déjà vu
Stealth mode
8-9 Uncovering secret affairs
5
Artist groups call for release of activist couple
Balita
7
Code Red: A Closer Look at POC Privatization
Lathalain
11
Tala-Ngalan: Isang Pagmumulintuklas sa bansang Filipinas
Kultura
THE OPENING SEQUENCE OF AN INDIE movie ended. The Film Institute was cramped with cinephiles or random movie-goers as I made my way through the dark aisle. I found a vacant seat at the last row. “These indie films become too mainstream,” a sleepy voice beside me uttered. Surprised, I looked at your direction. The darkness of the cinema concealed your face. You enthusiastically discussed the film to me as if we were friends from long ago. People were glaring at our direction. You were as much of a talker as I was. As the movie ended and the lights went on, the first thing I saw was the dimple on the right side of your face, made more prominent by your smile. We exited the theatre together. I offered you a ride home to prolong the conversation, but you refused. “What is your name?” I shouted. People were murmuring hullaballoos outside the theatre. “Ruby Tuesday,” you shouted back. “Oh, like the Rolling Stones song?” I said. You just smiled and disappeared among the crowd. I have always fallen in love with girls named after songs I love—Layla, Roxanne, Michelle, Darlene. Every year is a cycle of songs, of encounters alongside social issues. Similar concerns resurface themselves yearly: price hikes, privatization, militarization, failing grades and relationships. I saw you again last Saturday at the showing of the restored version of Maynila sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag at the UP Film Institute: after sharing a semester of countless conversations with you over fries and unlimited coffee; after finding out your name was not really Ruby Tuesday; after you just disappeared the way you did on the first night I met you. All of these fragments of images were restored in full colours the same way Maynila sa mga Kuko ng Liwanag was. The lights outside the theatre revealed your unchanged, talkative self with a bohemian aura. I have bulleted guesses on why you left: maybe you were just too pretty, maybe you’d rather read your existentialist novels, or maybe you loved Bob Dylan more than you loved me. After ranting about Bianca Gonzales’ indifference to informal settlers and the inane changing of the Philippines to Filipinas, you suddenly grew quiet and became aware of the elephant in the room. A fine-looking girl walked in and hugged you. “My girlfriend,” you told me. After a long time, I saw that dimple on your right cheek again. I, too, smiled. “I’ll give you a new playlist,” you added. Sure, I need new songs to love.
∞