Migration Art

Today is artsy day for me and my colleagues. We hosted a poster making contest on the theme: Alay sa OFW, Alay sa Bayan. There were about 40 contestants from highschools in Manila. They drew, painted, colored, erased, outlined, and doodled to their heart's content in 3 hours and voila! we have this great collection of works which depict the migration phenomenon in the eyes of highschool kids.


Some observations I made:

- Family concepts are either sources of inspiration or are problem areas
- Dollars or money representations were all over the artwork
- Nationalistic symbols as the backdrop
- The OFW as a hero

I was looking forward to something more than these but I might be asking too much. Alas, media has seeped into the creative consciousness of people, blurring the images, dramatizing only the popular ideas, and confining migration perpectives to these cliches. Sad!

Tigdas Hangin

Tobi had my undivided attention the past four days. After going through my homegrown diagnostics of "he must be teething now" hence the fever or it must be some "pilay" from all the calisthenics we do every morning, I had to bring him to Dr. Joy (nice name for a pediatrician, right?)because he developed rashes that all my research couldn't define.

My biyenan and Amay suspected its "tigdas hangin" and the "prescription" was to wrap Tobi up and protect him from the "hangin", duh? So with Tobi bundled up like he was joining the Philippine team on a trek to Mt. Everest, we went to see Dr. Joy. After the cursory check on his weight, temperature, eyes, etc. the doc examined the rashes and declared: its tigdas hangin! Then, she rattled off what's going to happen in the next few days, that there's no reason to worry for the rash will just vanish in thin air, give the baby more water, yadayadayada.

I think I wasn't paying attention then. I was pinching myself in my mind, stopping any loud laugh to come out. I didn't know that Tigdas Hangin was something medical and boy, have I a lot to learn about where and when "pamahiin" and science converge. And this, ladies and gentlemen is once of those rare instances - Tigdas Hangin is Roseola in medical science (and I thought I have mastered every page of the baby book).

Morning Call

Maaaameeeee, maaaaaaa, hihihi, meeeee. Lately, this voice has been waking me up in the wee hours of the morning. Sleeping one of my luxuries, that voice just refuses to give in and seeps into my subconscious state. The voice demands attention. It requires acknowledgement that goes beyond saying a dull “Good mowning, babyToW.” No, that won’t do for a morning talk, maaaameeeee. The call tells me and Agom that we have to haul our sleep deprived selves to wakefulness for a voice says its time for activity.

Perhaps in Tobi’s own language, maaaameeee, weewawoo, uhhhhh, ahhhh means for me turn the nightlamp off and the room lights on, switch the TV on for some morning news, bring in the toys so we can play in bed, pick me up and let’s do our “stretch your arms-cycle your legs workout.” And, maaaameeee, while you’re at it, it will be nice to have my warm teabath ready and to cook my vegetable breakfast, too.

Yes, our sweetest morning call ever comes from Tobi. Though we still have to drag ourselves up to wake up and get ready for work, the morning call at least makes the daily routine lighter. Tobi’s “maaaameeee,” would surely be much preferred to the whir of the alarm clock or even the Chinese alarm tune in my mobile.

Good morning, anak!

Lost Art

It's been awhile since I got zapped into a creative mode, which partly explains the silence in this blog. Life really can suck out all the creative juices from people. I envy those people who can write poetry out of their grocery lists, compose music spontaneously while doing the laundry or come up with a painting while trying to disguise that stubborn stain on a favorite pair of jeans. That is unbridled creativity. That is really passion consuming one's whole being.

The same passion I've been looking for the past months but simply can't. I'm in too deep in life and living. Weekdays, I practically don't have a life that its a bonus if I could doodle on my planner. Weekends are dedicated for nurturing - Tobi, the garden, our home...some space for creativity there but not as much as I would like it to be. The easel stand waits in our bodega...my craft shelf is gathering dust...my journal is buried under the design magazines and bills.

Must really do something about this longing. Must look for creative windows in this pile of must do's. Must give in to the old me. I miss that old me. I who got caught drawing house layouts instead of taking down notes in a history class in highschool. I designed my costumes for highschool plays while Mama enthusiastically sew it overnight. I was "commissioned" to do my highschool's stage design for a beauty contest. They loved my underwater concept complete with a giant clamshell with the beauties dressed in gowns that made them look like mermaids (this before the "Marina" or "Dyesebel" came to our visual consciousness). All these chances, I realize, were windows for my art.

I know there are such same windows in my life today and must move to opening it once more. Get that scrapbook project for Tobi going, do flower arrangements on weekends, start that dream mural for our room, and of course, blog away everyday. Enough with excuses, let out the artist in me...welcome the old me.