seiri
*note SALUT One might think I have given up, yet here I am offering the tardiest, but l would have to say, most earnest issue of Seiri. As one may have noticed, Seiri does not follow a certain theme for each issue and that is one thing this publication will hand out as one of its credos. I’m hoping the summer heat isn’t too smothering; I hope you get to relish this as much as I have. Soak in this tub of bubbling words and art, and you might come out fresh and luminescent.
I.M.
contents IT COMES IN THREES
SUMMERTIDE
ART Discovered Gem: Oleg Oprisco Not Your Ordinary Typography The Bear and Stag
RUSH
FILM 3 Directors, 3 Short Films Lobby Boy An Idiosyncratic Summer Film List
DOLCE VITA
LITERATURE Performance Poetry in MNL Farewell: Gabriel García Márquez A Petit Litfolio: Sprung MUSIC Culled Out: Issue 4 Playlist A Musical Treasure Hunt Regal or Jazzy by Murakami
CONFABULATION Redefining ‘Cultured’ Sundays Sorry for the Inconvenience
email: seirimag@gmail.com
who isn’t enamored by point shoes and calf muscles ?
it comes in ART FILM LITERATURE MUSIC
threes
art an antidote to emptiness OLEG OPRISCO NOT YOUR AVERAGE TYPOGRAPHY THE BRAND THAT YOUNG MANILA MADE
Discovered gem Oleg Oprisco // www.oprisco.com
“Create + Desire,”
is Oleg Oprisco’s personal concept for his romantic and hauntingly beautiful photography. It stifles the conventional (petty) notion that the latest and fanciest of equipment will provide the that this Canon 4 Dmark is an investment yada yada. Ever the believer that quality of an output is directly proportional to the passion and ability of the user/artist himself, this Ukrainian Photographer has become an inspiration. HE USES A KIEV 6C. No memory card, no Photoshop, no Lightroom, although expensive medium format film, and quite possibly he does some chemical post-processing via dark room, sure, but nothing more digital about this Ukrainian photographer’s art than his use of social media as a platform to share his wonder of wonders. I’d like to think this is the downstream toward the appreciation of today’s uncanny blastto-the-past trend. Polaroid cameras have reached much popularity again and if that Facebook profile picture of an instax print isn’t proof, then I don’t know what is. This ain’t no instagram filter-aided photography though, but of reality. Rather, Oleg’s take on reality. Here are a few words from him:
“
I always try to do everything myself. I collect clothes from flea markets or old studios and then learn how to adapt them. Same with the props. Like every Ukrainian, I love freedom. I like the ability to stop time and create my version of reality. Each picture has a unique story. My models are heroes and I love them for it. I strongly advise to use your time wisely. Laziness is your worst enemy. Enough looking at photographs taken by your idols. You’ve commented on enough work that you hate. It’s time to take photos. Your best photos. Let go and shoot, shoot, shoot!
*read the whole interview at
”
http://iso.500px.com/an-interview-with-the-incomparable-oleg-oprisco/
nOT YOUR AVERAGE TYPOGRAPHY
Inkheart
I
f one can imagine how painstaking it must be for girls from private Catholic schools to learn the art of writing in script (cursive), how much more for someone who delves in its higher, more proferssional form; calligraphy? I would have placed this under Literature, but the art of writing these words and how they are too beautiful, too impeccable to only mind the content of and not their presentation is quite a betrayal. In the age in where Photoshop exists, where the ease of downloading pretty fonts and typing them over pretty photographs is considered quite the art, I present one of the most passionate artists I know who truly provides the time, effort, and drive in the practice and polishing of a physical and masterful craft. Investing in materials one may consider medieval, expensive, and wasteful, JAMIE SUGAY (instagram: @seabearwrites) expresses her thoughts, her feelings, and how to endeavor in this unique creation of an ancient art form is a way of being free and a source of pure delight.
What is this art called exactly? The word calligraphy comes from the Greek words Kalla and graphia which literally translates to beautiful writing. There are two types of dip pen calligraphy (as far as I know) and that’s pointed pen calligraphy and broad pen calligraphy. The first is the one used for all the formal scripts, usually, but not always, characterized by the thicks and thins in the letters. The pointed nibs have different types of flexibility to be able to give the user the kind of line variation needed. The latter is mostly used for italic fonts and Gothic fonts. It makes use of various sizes of flat edged nibs.
When did you start calligraphy? What sparked the interest? I started doing pointed pen calligraphy merely last July when I bought my first dip pen! I’ve always been into typography and calligraphy but I never saw the need to buy the actual tools since you could always fake dip pen calligraphy using unipins or micron pens (or just about any pen/pencil actually) and to be honest, everything was kind of pricey. I don’t regret buying any of my pens, nibs or ink though. It’s so much fun experimenting with the tools and it’s honestly so relaxing.
Why do you practice it? Why this art exactly? I like making pretty things. Personally, calligraphy is like playing music or drawing. It’s relaxing and there’s no pressure to make it perfect because I mostly do it for myself. It’s kind of silly but I guess I just do it because it makes me happy. I love (almost) everything about it. I love the scratching sound the nib makes on paper and I love seeing the ink flow. I love watching the tines spread out to make thicker strokes and I love the hairlines the nib can make. When I write, I kind of focus on the particular area or word I’m writing (I know that’s wrong) instead of the whole piece but I like how you see the little elements come together in the end. I do calligraphy because I like the feeling after I’ve finished a piece. It’s not always pretty but it’s something I worked hard on. It also helps that I have so many supportive people around me telling me that my work isn’t pointless.
How do you choose which words/passages to spend much time on? I write whatever I feel like writing. Sometimes friends send me quotes they’d like to have written or sometimes I just stumble upon an article, story or poem I like. I write a lot of lyrics as well because there are just some songs that tug at your insides and when I listen to the lyrics, I think, “okay, I have to write that down.” I also write a lot of motivational quotes. It’s funny because I have all these inspirational stuff I’ve written all over my walls and my room basically looks like a self-help book but don’t think there’s anything wrong with having happy little reminders. There’s so much negativity in the world that I think we NEED these notes saying “Today will be amazing.” I remember more when I write so I try to avoid writing a lot of depressing or angry things. Writing helps me calm down so at least I have it as an outlet.
Anything you want to exclaim about it or share more about your relationship with this art? Before I started calligraphy, I never realized how much time and thought is put into writing these things. There’s proper spacing to consider and the type of paper used, the color of ink to go well with the paper and the style of writing. There are people who really take time to learn all the formal things about this art and I feel a little guilty sometimes because I just do it for fun. I’m honestly still a beginner. I haven’t learned any of the formal scripts such as Copperplate and Spencerian. I took one basic calligraphy class two months after I started calligraphy but I’m mostly self taught. There are so many resources online for those who want to learn though! I’ve met so many people because of this art. Last February, I was able to meet a group of talented ladies who share the same passion when it comes to calligraphy. We’re going to be selling calligraphy materials and we’ll be having a workshop at the end of this month under the name La Bella Scrittura (search them on Facebook), which means the beautiful writing in Italian.
the brand that young manila made Presenting URSUS et CERVUS, a brand dedicated to a lifestyle that tangles the fine and the rugged
A GLIMPSE OF THEIR THIRD COLLECTION: SPRING/SUMMER 2014
T
hey call it a lifestyle brand, but it might as well be a movement for its show of creativity and enthusiasm for the possibilities of what the modern life has to offer the Filipino youth. URSUS et CERVUS (Latin for bear and stag) is the culmination of a bunch of young Filipinos that represents quality and minimal style, not to mention its dapples of national pride. Initially was the solo project of Sean Bautista, a BFA Information Design student at the Ateneo de Manila University, it has grown to be a company of young artists that design the brand’s merchandise; polo shirts, tees skateboards, rings, and stationary among others, and also curate its freshly launched online publication at www.ursusetcervus.com There is so much room for discussion about what a lifestyle brand is, and what Ursus et Cervus will stand for in the long run, but the true mark it leaves today is its captivating ability to have found a niche in today’s swarm of existing creative organizations and movements. Ursus et Cervus is a testament to the survival of the contemporary Filipino youth’s thirst and quest for visionary innovation and purpose.
manila only. https://www.facebook.com/ursusetcervus?fref=ts
FILM watch closely SHORT FILMS BY SOME FAVORITE DIRECTORS ONLY BECAUSE YOU MUST SEE HIM AS LOBBY BOY AN IDIOSYNCRATIC LIST FOR A SAGACIOUS SUMMER
If there’s one marathon you don’t need to train for 3 prolific directors, 3 of their amazing short films and they’re all in Youtube
michel gondry
Haircut Mouse
Bottle Rocket
Hotel Chevalier
François ozon
Castello Cavalcanti
A Summer Dress
Tiny
Interior Design
wes anderson
X2000
See the Sea
ONLY BECAUSE YOU MUST SEE HIM
REVOLUTIONARY, AMUSING, AND CHARMING AS SAOIRSE RONAN’S LOVER, ZERO MOUSTAFA IS THE ONE
a summer film marathon
AN IDIOSYNCRATIC LIST THAT MIGHT LEAVE ONE SLIGHTLY HOLLOW (WEIRDED OUT)
VIER MINUTEN by chris kaus (2006) A story of an old piano teacher teaching a young woman in prison. German
dancer in the dark by lars von trier (2000) An Eastern European woman moves to the USA , believing that life in America would prove better. English
the tit & the moon by bigas luna (1994) Boy named Tete grows up in search of the perfect breasts. Spanish
LITERATURE “We turn into what we digest on a daily basis” PERFORMANCE POETRY IN MANILA TOP SIX QUOTES FROM MY FAVORITE COLOMBIAN WRITER A PETIT LITFOLIO: SPRUNG
PERFORMANCE POETRY Touchdown MNL “Manila is the literary capital of South-east Asia for English-writing – second to none... This from a metropolitan city of 12 million, but with less than half our per capita income. The numbers don’t account for the sheer talent gap between Singapore and Manila - and kills the notion that affluence is a necessary prerequisite of cultural growth.” (www.verbosity.net, 2001)
T
hirteen years later, the Manilean has reached farther in its journey to its very own literary golden age in the modern setting of today. Poetry with the likes of that presented as entertainment, meshed with music, drumbeats, and lyricism alongside absolute tune, and also as competition has finally reached its zenith in the form of billowing recognition around the concrete jungle of Metro Manila. Routinely done at Sev’s Café in Malate, also with organizations budding in support of the literary form of Poetry Slam– an ilk of performance poetry presented in Issue 1 –like SPEAK! Philippines and The Polaris Project that hold events and platforms devoted to a show of verbosity and dramatic gesture, such certifies the upsurge in physical for of performance poetry. Not only is this a manifestation of cultural growth, but also a spike on a higher intellectual level that could be the representative of and relevant to Filipinoo society’s ever changing flux of interest, literary ability, and attention span. An already acclaimed stage poet named Carren ‘Kooky’ Tuason, has never been more passionate about anything else and divulged in an interview with GMA back in 2011, “There’s a big difference between a page poet and a stage poet. Page poetry is basically just writing. Stage poetry is a combination of a lot of things. It’s part theater, part story
-telling, part poetry, even part singing. A stage poet is free to do anything she likes that will convey the emotion to the audience, so it’s more fun and challenging.” Being the founder of Bigkas Pilipinas, the first organization ever to exult the art here in the country, Kooky Tuason well may be dubbed the ‘Mother of Performance Poetry’ in the Philippines. The spread of stage poetry in a country deemed to be bereft of originality when it comes to entertainment redeems itself with obscure poets populated with a number of the youth whose voices stomp the halls of social media, yet deserve more than likes, comments, and reblogs, for these will surely fade and be forgotten as timelines and feeds reach infinite lengths. The youth is imbued with teeming emotions and thoughts that may be released through a wee pedestal as that of a café or petite organized events, so that a listener may be able to truly imbibe, feel, and connect with the artist To quote again that 13-year-old article written by a foreigner: “Writers [Poets] in Manila, enviably, need never feel alone in what can be the loneliest of arts. Perhaps their secret is simply that they believe passionately in country and culture, and in the power of art to change society and individuals for the better.And they act on their convictions with honesty and humility, without fear or favour. Passion can be infectious.”
FAREWELL Gabriel García Márquez
Thou MUST KNOW OF HIM Top 6 Quotes from My Favorite Colombian Writer
f o h c u m e w o I m o h w to d o g a limteyreaxrpyectations from love and life Age has no reality except in the physical world. The essence of a human being is resistant to the passage of time. Our inner lives are eternal, which is to say that our spirits remain as youthful and vigorous as when we were in full bloom. Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the alpha and omega. An end in itself. He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves. The adolescents of my generation, greedy for life, forgot in body and soul about their hopes for the future until reality taught them that tomorrow was not what they had dreamed, and they discovered nostalgia. I discovered that my obsession for having each thing in the right place, each subject at the right time, each word in the right style, was not the well deserved reward of an ordered mind but just the opposite: a complete system of pretense invented by me to hide the disorder of my nature. I discovered that I am not disciplined out of virtue but as a reaction to my negligence, that I appear generous in order to conceal my meanness, that I pass myself off as prudent because I am evil-minded, that I am conciliatory in order not to succumb to my repressed rage, that I am punctual only to hide how little I care about other people’s time. I learned, in short, that love is not a condition of the spirit but a sign of the zodiac. She likes to try everything out of curiosity, but she’ll be sorry if she isn’t guided by her heart.
and my favorite:
‘The world is divided into those who screw and those who do not.’ He distrusted those who did not—when they strayed from the straight and narrow, it was something so unusual for them that they bragged about love as if they had just invented it. Those who did it often, on the other hand, lived for that alone. They felt so good that their lips were sealed as if they were tombs, because they knew that their lives depended on their discretion. They never spoke of their exploits, they confided in no one, they feigned indifference to the point where they earned the reputation of being impotent, or frigid, or above all timid fairies. But they took pleasure in the error because the error protected them.
A PETIT LITFOLIO
strung
loose Exuberance of motion and light going, going, gone There was no more music no more song going, going, gone Flashes, tingles, tickles, vibration flying, flying fleeting Dawn arrives hopeful, loud yet she couldn’t she couldn’t no one awoke going, going
gone
A leรงon Essayer She tried Pleurer She cried Tomber She fell Merde To hell (SHIT)
Are you sad, Mama? Mother and daughter former sitting latter standing hovering at the former stroking her sandy hair sand unlike the ilk in Balesin nor a certain station one hovering leads to whispering remember what I told you remember what I told you Time has come at its moment of ineluctable reversal
Power of both I cannot have one thing messy and another quite neat
no routine, yes routine sober evenings and drunken mornings
yet what I pine for, and truly do is to hold
What am I saying?
the power of both
...
the class and the crass the good and the evil
love meshed with hate hate meshed with love
the smallest daffodil and the tallest grass
love and hate the only two things
grinding asses a poetic bed under wrapped legs, clenched toes but separate hearts
one can hold with that divine property of concurrency
contained in one person, myself the power of both not yes, not no not black nor white the gray the purest gray the purest blend the whole spectrum but nothing definite nothing too stark as to behave linearly gradient, yes a shade
I cannot have both
only if it is true, that is both then both is real both is possible
Deep setting The deep setting of life resides in the full consciousness (or not) and acknowledgment of each dear moment that one breathes in. One does not realize that in living above the waters of what could truly be, set in the depths of uncertainty and challenge, is a trap that one succumbs and does not realize until death grabs and shakes and enlightens the soul ready for departure that one has done nothing, was inspired by nothing. Such is a tragedy that one attempts ever so consciously to avoid that a paradox occurs instead. Today with the perennial call of a platform as small as a palm or no larger than the human body, it swallows and grits at the flesh of pure thought and true felicity with the options to alter what is true, what has been done, to provide the unkind and contrived validation of having expressed, albeit of earnest intents as the sheer blanket of narcissism and pretentious offerings of the self, easily misconstrued with reality that illusions have been a constant threat to living, diving deep below the sea of the wealth of the physical planet and real people. The definition of reality has been gravely transformed, if not damaged, and with much hope, one may hold the ability to yet open his/ her senses to experience and challenge that can only be found below, the deepest of life’s waters, in the most meaningful and sagacious, then may death take the soul sans regret, only contentment. Untainted contentment.
A feeling of horrid worry: An internal hand clenching the heart for the hurried beats might be discovered.
music there is more to music than the ears can fathom CULLED OUT : ISSUE 4 PLAYLIST HOW TO DISCOVER THE LOCAL MUSIC SCENE FAVORITE MUSICAL REFERENCES BY MURAKMI (WHO SAYS WE ALWAYS HAVE TO LISTEN TO OBSCURE INDIE BANDS?)
CULLED OUt : lazy dazy
andpmicukseidc h flotrertihneg shweeat listen at: www.8tracks.com/seirimag
coastline latch l 8 cmmr gronlandic edit give a little love duyog paperback writer wunder wunder
kodaline (disclosure cover)
lily allen
of montreal
noah and the whale
jewel villaflores
the beatles
a musical treasure HUNT O
ne of the best things that comes with being part of a band is getting exposed to the local music scene. My first serious venture into the industry was in third year high school, where I was the keyboardist of Lalangin. Our music was a mix of indie folk and alternative original acoustic songs that helped us score some bar gigs and some gigs in a few high school fairs. In these gigs I discovered artists like Imelda, She’s Only Sixteen, Turbo Goth, and Cynthia Alexander. Lalangin didn’t last after high school, our percussionist left, and our guitarist went to study abroad; we had college to deal with, as well as other commitments we had to prioritize. Still, I entertained thoughts of forming another band while I focused on school and sports. Being a band-less person did not stop me from attending gigs. I think it helped that I had friends who shared the same interests as me, and who were just as game to go as far as saGuijo to watch Up Dharma Down (UDD) or Bee Eyes. Going to watch gigs is a good way to discover bands but what really opened my eyes to the more obscure band was by being a part of one. When you play at gigs, it is inevitable that you find yourself listening to the bands before and/ or after you. With my new band, The Ransom Collective, we discovered the wonders the local music scene had to offer. Some of the bands we had the pleasure of listening to and playing with were Fairwell Fairweather, Autotelic, Chocolate Grass, and Ourselves the Elves to name a few. Up until then, I thought I knew a good deal about original Pinoy music, but I was wrong. I was mostly familiar with just the big name bands like UDD or Radioactive Sago Project. OPM has so much to offer, and it amazes me that it took me so long to discover the lesser known bands. My point in writing this is not to tell you about my band experience, but rather about all the other bands you should experience. There are countless bands out there waiting to be discovered, and you don’t have to be a part of one to do so
local music you should experience according to Lyriel Gonzales
My point in writing this is not to tell you about my band experience, but rather about all the other bands you should experience. There are countless bands out there waiting to be discovered, and you don’t have to be a part of one to do so. It’s so easy to find new music, just check out any of the music sites like VandalsontheWall.com or Amplify.ph. If you don’t know where to start, go to a Route 196 or saGuijo event because they have great bands lined up almost every night. You can also simply surf the net and look around, because there is always some band to be found. In fact, my favorite way to discover new music is by random accident. I discovered Clara Benin through the artist Bullet Dumas, and when I looked through her Soundcloud, I saw that she liked a song by the Library Kids, thus piqued my interest. When I clicked on the song I was pleasantly surprised to hear such lovely harmonies by a Filipino folk duo! I instantly liked their Facebook page and messaged them asking when their next gig would be. I could go on and on about my musical discoveries, both online and live, but I’d rather you go and make your own. The search for music is like a treasure hunt. You may not like all the songs you find, but when you discover a really good one, it’s like all your hard work paid off because you know you’ve got a keeper. You end up following the progress of a band to see if they are as promising as they sound at the first step of discovery. If and when they make it big, you’ll be proud to say you were one of their first fans. So what are you waiting for? Go explore and discover, the musical treasure hunt awaits you.
Catch Lyriel and her band, The Ransom Collective, at this year’s Wanderland Festival. https://soundcloud.com/theransomcollective
“
The search for music is like a treasure hunt
making life a little more regal Listening to Classical Music Whilst Walking the Street will Make Everything and Everyone More Attractive
H
ave you ever tried – OUT OF DESPERATION – listening to classical music for the hope of achieving a certain degree of intelligence whilst academic jargon was lain before you? If you have or if you haven’t, here’s a different take on classical, well uhm, classics, the real classics. If one has seen the film Liberal Arts (2012) featuring Josh Radnor and Elizabeth Olsen, there was this tender exchange of mixtapes made up of Mozart, Vivaldi and whatnot, and I quote: I was listening to the overture and as the music began to swell I suddenly realized that: I had hands. And legs, and a torso, and that I was surrounded by people and cars. It’s hard to explain exactly what happened, but I felt in that moment that the divine - however we may choose to define such a thing - surely dwells as much in the concrete and taxi cabs as it does in the rivers, lakes, and mountains. Grace, I realized, is neither time nor place dependent. All we need is the right soundtrack. I’ve culled a dear few from the inundation of musical references by Haruki Murakami in his books, and you might want to wallow in them for a little bit. Imagine how attractive and regal the whole world will seem with Mozart sheathing the whole scene of daily life, la vie quotidienne. Youtube may be a good supplement at this point.
or jazzy Murakami had a plethora of Jazz references too, which probably explains this fierce lot on 8tracks
From Frank Sinatra’s South of the Border to Desafinado (bossa nova), these will surely draw one back to reading his literary masterpieces. As pour moi, listening through all of them as we speak *wink*.
summertide
RUSH RUSH RUSH RUSH RUSH
dolce vita
CONFABULATION POUR ME ANOTHER DRINK & LET’S TALK ABOUT WHAT IT MEANS TO BE CULTURED SUNDAYS MANILA’S TRANSPORTATION PROBLEM
Redefining ‘cultured’
You must drop your vanity, you are not a child… You will soon be 30.
A
throng of well-heeled contemporaries surrounded me at a coffee shop worthy to be part of a Spot.PH article regarding where to hang out blah blah blah, I think it’s already in one of their lists. The smell of artisanal coffee and this new ilk of music– Was it EDM or deep house or both? – I really had no idea, but the musician was spinning what seemed to be a unicycle amongst DJ equipment. It was a coalescence of people, mostly colleges kids, interested in art, fashion, music, film, skateboards, hoodies, and whatever. Anyway, it was merely a culminating affair meant to discuss the aforementioned topics of engrossment with everyone present there. My friend who organized the event asked me, “Don’t you feel like you belong?” I couldn’t quite answer. Did I?
cul·tured adj. 1. Educated, polished, and refined; cultivated. 2. Produced under artificial and controlled conditions: cultured pearls. cultured adj 1. showing or having good taste, manners, upbringing, and education 2. (Biology) artificially grown or synthesized: cultured pearls. 3. sport of superior quality, as though the product of special training: a cultured left foot; a cultured backhand. cul•tured adj. 1. enlightened; refined. 2. artificially nurtured or grown: cultured bacteria. 3. cultivated; tilled.
No doubt there were genuine ones, I thought and tried to fit in this jigsaw possibly just unable to speak of their puzzle of a sea of self-proclaimed ‘creatives’ (young artistic people) around me. There art in a more eloquent manner. Yet was this remarkable feeling of doubt wheththere were others whose words danced er what they were talking about really meant anything. No doubt there were genuine ones and pranced out their mouths. possibly just unable to speak of their art in a more eloquent manner. Yet there were others whose words danced and pranced out their mouths. DAMMIT I was looking for rich conversation here. These were people who have probably seen most of the world, read a lot of books, could quote a Truffaut film from beginning to end, expose archetypes foreshadowing and denouement in every scene of Inception, discuss Cherub, Beyoncé all the way to Chopin, even their distaste for Starbucks and, of course, tea. Are they cultured? Yes, on the most commonsensical level, yes, they are:
This was a lot branded as cultured. I didn’t belong. I drew such a conclusion from the discomfort in responding to my friend. Yet, what are we truly searching for here? Trying to define the adjective cultured, in reference to a person, is as odious a task as defining art, or describing the taste of water, for it can be the most elusive, yet widely-used of words to call out to anyone who has truly thought about self-improvement and intelligence.
To be cultured has more roots than knowledge itself. In Spanish, arte is the literal translation of art. In Filipino, a language greatly influenced by Spanish, the term ma[arte] that used to mean artful or artistic is currently and has been for a while an adjective for someone, especially a young woman, who’s finicky and by extension, pretentious. It has a negative connotation, but not a very strong one. Besides being finicky (critical, meticulous), it also pertains to someone cavalier, as the phrase ‘Ang dami niyang arte! She has a lot of airs!’ goes. Although the definition cannot be limited to those, there is a certain gaffe in the connotations that have arisen from the idea of ART, something that is part of sculpting a cultured person, has branched out to being lofty and pompous, in short, quite the show-off . If such is lodged in language, definitely history has cultivated this term for an elite whose opinions and knowledge of the world may seem to have a standard, when knowledge does not have boundaries nor limits, and has a vast spectrum. In contrast to this, Anton Chekhov has made his own list in 1886. This might be the true test of a cultured person, and I believe Chekhov and his words even from 128 years ago can be vouched for. To be cultured has more roots than knowledge itself, moreover personality and behavior.
“
MOSCOW, 1886. Cultured people must, in my opinion, satisfy the following conditions: They respect human personality, and therefore they are always kind, gentle, polite, and ready to give in to others. They have sympathy not for beggars and cats alone. Their heart aches for what the eye does not see….
They sit up at night in order to help P…., to pay for brothers at the University, and to buy clothes for their mother. They respect the property of others, and therefor pay their debts. They are sincere, and dread lying like fire. They don’t lie even in small things. A lie is insulting to the listener and puts him in a lower position in the eyes of the speaker. They do not pose, they behave in the street as they do at home, they do not show off before their humbler comrades. They are not given to babbling and forcing their uninvited confidences on others. Out of respect for other people’s ears they more often keep silent than talk. They do not disparage themselves to rouse compassion. They do not play on the strings of other people’s hearts so that they may sigh and make much of them. They do not say “I am misunderstood,” or “I have become second-rate,” because all this is striving after cheap effect, is vulgar, stale, false….
Their heart aches for what the eye does not see. They have no shallow vanity. They do not care for such false diamonds as knowing celebrities, shaking hands with the drunken P., [Translator’s Note: Probably Palmin, a minor poet.] listening to the raptures of a stray spectator in a picture show, being renowned in the taverns…. If they do a pennyworth … they do not strut about as though they had done a hundred roubles’ worth, and do not brag of having the entry where others are not admitted…. The truly talented always keep in obscurity among the crowd, as far as possible from advertisement…. Even Krylov has said that an empty barrel echoes more loudly than a full one. If they have a talent they respect it. They sacrifice to it rest, women, wine, vanity…. They are proud of their talent….
“There must be an application, a thirst for contribution or production of work, to exemplify true ability, true practice, true understanding and that indubitable word, integrity; not for the notice of others, but the unfeigned fulfillment of oneself.�
Wine Snobs Unite!, by W. Blake Gray. Besides, they are fastidious. They develop the aesthetic feeling in themselves. They cannot go to sleep in their clothes, see cracks full of bugs on the walls, breathe bad air, walk on a floor that has been spat upon, cook their meals over an oil stove. They seek as far as possible to restrain and ennoble the sexual instinct. They do not ask for the cleverness which shows itself in continual lying. They want especially, if they are artists, freshness, elegance, humanity, the capacity for motherhood…. They do not swill vodka at all hours of the day and night, do not sniff at cupboards, for they are not pigs and know they are not. They drink only when they are free, on occasion…. For they want mens sana in corpore sano [a healthy mind in a healthy body]. And so on.
”
You must drop your vanity, you are not a child … You will soon be thirty”
Ultimately, the list bears little, or absolutely no, resemblance with the dictionary’s and so too the ordinary mind’s definition and involuntary impression, and why has this list served so much insight for me, a person in the 21st century? Life has proved itself ever more convenient when it comes to education, and that the norm for a person of this age is being more literate and informed (which is absolutely something to celebrate, in fact the amount of the things people discover today is so much that we take in more information in a day than a person from the 17th-century did in his lifetime according to Robert Wurman), and the conventional person is now smarter, sassier, that we millenials already are considered as such. Nonetheless, there must be more to yearning for something more than knowing things, being able to talk about things, and This is what cultured people are like. In writing, reading, being cultured as society deorder to be cultured and not to stand befines it, and how history and the Spanish had low the level of your surroundings it is not possibly subliminally encouraged it for Filienough to have read “The Pickwick Papers” pinos. There must be an application, a thirst and learnt a monologue from “Faust.” … for contribution or production of work, to exemplify true ability, true practice, true underWhat is needed is constant work, day and standing and that indubitable word, integrity; night, constant reading, study, will…. Every not for the notice of others, but the unfeigned hour is precious for it…. Come to us, smash fulfillment of oneself. the vodka bottle, lie down and read…. Turgenev, if you like, whom you have not read.
sundays “How many Sundays – how many hundreds of Sundays like this – lay ahead of me? “Quiet, peaceful and lonely,” I said aloud to myself. On Sundays I didn’t wind my spring.” - Haruki Murakami
The nature of sunday has always been that of a scene that can never be uttered at first command; always will be unique and the calm renegade against throttling Monday, boring Tuesday, barely-there Wednesday, distracting just-one-more-day Thursday, thank-god-it’s Friday, and vivid, shallow Saturdays. The seven sisters, daughters of god that created for us a playhouse of a world. Murakami said it, with that distinctive flourish. The glory of Sunday resides in this: There is rebirth. That special ilk of loneliness. Ingenuity – the supreme empowerment to be productive, alas it never happens. Impeccable, forgivable sloth and gluttony. and when it rains, oh when it rains, and the smell and taste of the simultaneous warmth and cool earthiness diffuse through the open window, and “... millions long for immortality who don’t know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon.” The existential planning. The long, drive that aids in the escape from human encounters that have left us exhausted during the week. The decision to let oneself be doused by a mute and impalpable life that is larger, farther from us. The difference in the smell of the air, the way we walk. The ruffled apricot vignette that filters our eyes. The dissemblance of what coffee would taste like tomorrow and this morning. Watching films seem more poetic. Even tidying up the room is an infraction against the invisible gospel of sunday itself. The deepened observance of the green grass and the sky, or even one’s fingernails and how it needs to be cut. A lake, if one is near, like in old American films where a boat is waiting. Publications, songs dedicated to it. The day one does not necessarily meet his/her lover. In fact, we all drift, float on a Sunday, carried away by the overwhelming statement of a single day marked as the beginning of another week that we are alive, and life is not about perfection, but a constant rebirth and all the things above.
SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE MRT halts in the middle of transit. Sorry for the Inconvenience. EDSA Re-Blocking. Sorry for the Inconvenience. Maguindanao Massacre Trial Unresolved. Sorry for the Inconvenience. Tito Sotto’s Plagiarism. Sorry for the Inconvenience. PDAF scandal. Sorry for the Inconvenience. University of the Philippines Enrollment. Sorry for the Inconvenience.
T
his is what those stupid idiots in the government don’t understand. Putting up a Sorry for the Inconvenience sign isn’t very elegant. As a public university student, I’ve already seen plenty of those signs, not merely in grimy restrooms, but more from government buildings, especially my own alma mater. Moreover, it seems the government has lost its reins (brains) and have merely given up, resorting to looting money, taxes that earnest citizens pay for what? Nothing. And getting away with it, so the sign is put up, not physically, but it can definitely be felt. If they see the nitty gritty, moments that make up the lives of the Filipino people, maybe they will understand that such a public notice is not honorable to be at constant use. When was the last time they didn’t put it up? It seems as if they cannot see the correlation of today and the future, the simplicity of thorough implementation if acted upon with firm plans and untainted decisions. What am I talking about now? I’m talking about how transportation around the metro is so integral to the lives of the people that make up the nation that our progress may, just a little, depend on resolving this specific problem. First of all, public transportation is supposed to be convenient. Something one can rely on when one needs to be somewhere on time. Yet, such is not the case here in Manila, the capital of the Philippines. Everyday starts off as a bloody battle with tricycles, jeepneys, pedicabs, expensive cabs, and that annoyingly far train station. This is no adventure, this is the dynamic life of a regular Filipino who doesn’t deserve this kind of dynamic life. The dynamism must be more than telling the world “I have survived another
day of commuting.” People getting robbed (sometimes even killed) in jeepneys. People waiting for the bus having their bags sliced open only to find out their wallet is missing. Smoke staining your only white uniform on your way to work and on the way back home, hoping each day you don’t have to wash it every day because you’re trying to save. Time could be used for studying, for work, for learning, and living is expended on hellish traffic, yapping radio DJs who think they know what they’re talking about, JUST FUCKING PLAY THE SONG ALREADY. MMDA chaps inelegantly exhorting for a kickback. Traffic signs in disrepair. Why do we need an girl/boy zones in the train? Why don’t we have toilets in train stations? Why do security guards need to check what we bring every time, at the entrance at that? They don’t even look at what’s inside, because the stations are rush zones and everyone is in a damn hurry, aren’t they? Why do you think ‘rich kids’ believe riding the MRT is an adventure of a lifetime? It scares them, they think of it as something that one can derive a nasty experience or live the New York life, well not quite it isn’t. Quality of work, of life diminishes. These aren’t even enough to capture what more the abysmal list of horrors the transportation situation in Manila impels on people. We’re not even on the page of ‘‘A developed country is not a place where the poor have cars. It’s where the
rich use pub lic trans port’’. Well, this is nothing even but an insult to a nation trying to get to work, feeling the same way they did when they got off the shower, fresh and ready to take on the world, even do a good job, only to be trampled like a bloomed rose by the distressing foot of public transportation. As the Filipino adage goes, Kay’ aga aga. (It’s way too early for that). An excerpt from the article* recently written by Herbert Docena for Inquirer points out that this isn’t just an insult to us Filipinos, it’s a full assault. ‘One can tell how a country’s rulers treat the common folk just by looking at the trains. Their lack of compassion shows in the details: in those ridiculously narrow passages under the Guadalupe and Kamuning... in the escalators and elevators that rarely work, endangering the pregnant and shutting out the handicapped and the elderly... Perhaps nothing more clearly exemplifies the combination of cold indifference and crass opportunism with which our elites treat us than the way they designed the connection between the Cubao MRT and LRT stations: Instead of being built as close to each other as possible, these are built so as to force passengers to march for another kilometer through a shopping mall, thus enabling its owners to jack up their tenants’ rent. Aren’t these a form of cruel and unusual punishment, a form of avoidable suffering? Don’t these constitute mass violence—now such a routine that we don’t even think of it as violence?’ I thought, this may be the reason why a lot of people seem so grumpy in the morning, or throughout the day, as if they were battered, brooding with unnameable bitterness Not to mention government employees, but that’s another story. A prime example is an Engineering classmate of mine who lives in Parañaque, wakes up at 4 am to get to a 7 am class in Diliman, Quezon City. This was the solution before; Traffic? Wake up earlier. Without taking into account the cost this places on behavior at home (shaving off time for family, for studies, art… for sleep) and performance in school (sleeping in class, on the job), she failed 3 of her 5 subjects last semester, no joke. Don’t even try to iron this out by suggesting she take a dormitory or an apartment, for those matters are entirely off topic, and she isn’t from the province is she? By far she is delayed, and the Philippines shall be robbed of one Engineer that could help improve the country in a lot of ways who will have graduated sooner. Maybe because she didn’t study enough, she had too many extra-curricular activities, she partied too much, or maybe, just maybe, it was the traffic.
untitled by luna ferum (2010)
*Read Herbert Docena’s article at:
http://opinion.inquirer.net/73943/the-violence-of-ourmass-transport-system
seiri {4}