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~August 8-20, 2025~

Microseason: summer rain– a prelude to autumn..

Quote of the week

“You managed to find employment, you go to work every day and you can feed yourself. That’s a fine achievement.”

-Ms. Komachi, What You are Looking for is in the Library


Handworks Coffee
Kingyo Izakaya

Cats, hydrangeas, pools.

When the days are more difficult than usual, I repeat these three words as I walk. The three things I’m most thankful for in the summer– cat sightings, hydrangeas around the neighbourhood, and the joy of submerging myself in water.

On the last day of my swim classes, a cat appeared on my walk home. I crouched to take a photo of it. It purred and came closer for a pet. It felt like a reward. I had completed my classes with no absences, and I was finally able to swim a full lap without stopping.

My days felt like a Murasaki novel, where the ordinary days were peppered with magical realism, even if these things only popped up within a stretch of two hours. Often, on a Monday. I went to work that afternoon but I was happy and humming.

Figs and Rain

I call it the “vast second,” when a split second feels like it’s been stretched for longer. It happens on very rare moments when you’re fully present and in awe.

A vendor from Gibson came down to showcase his products, tea grown directly from Kenya. But he also had a fig tree in his backyard so he brought a box for us to try.

I have never had fresh figs in my life. They often came dried, or in jams–the only way I’ve tried them. Whether on my toast or a charcuterie board. So you could imagine my surprise when I bit into a freshly picked green fig and felt its soft, juicy flesh part as I took a bite.

I thought green fruits were never ripe. Mangoes, avocados, and apples. The only green fruit I could trust to eat was watermelons.


"Normies"

Sometimes, when I meet up with my friends and they ask me what’s new, I don’t know how to respond.

The normal answer would be to say “I got promoted,” and everyone will clasp their hands and smile and say how happy they are for me.

But the promotion wasn’t the most novel nor important thing that really warranted attention.

What I really wanted to tell them was how in awe I was of the first time I bit into a fig and the vast second I experienced. Or that rain smelled the same here and back home and how magical that was and how crazy it was to suddenly be flooded by nostalgia just by a mere whiff of a familiar scent.

But those things disappear in the background of normalcy, condominiums, and corporate jobs.

And I know my friends are anything but normal. They’re magical too, and yet we fall into a rhythm of talking about what is a societally agreed upon list of topics we must talk about. Mortgages.

Nobody asked but:

JUST READ

JUST WATCHED

Re-watched at the Rio Theatre. I first saw in the Mood for Love in 2008, as a film student. I don’t remember much, I was mostly captured by the mis-en-scene and Maggie Cheung.

Professor Campos used to say that the theme of Wong Kar Wai’s films were that of unattained desires.

mise en scène

/ˌmēz ˌän ˈsen/

When applied to the cinema, mise-en-scène refers to everything that appears before the camera—the sets, props, costumes, actors, and even the lighting.

Re-watched Mano Po 1 and realized my fashion sense as a tween was basically Ara Mina in the movie.

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Astrid
Astrid

As a multi-disciplinary artist, Astrid has always had a love for the arts. A theatre kid from gradeschool to university, a features editor in highschool, to becoming a film undergrad. After completing her studies in Journalism, she stepped out of her newsroom job to pursue absolutely nothing. Despite her leaning towards the arts, she realized her relationship with herself and creativity was unhealthy. She’s currently having fun making bad art, writing, and working at a grocery store while discovering different types of cheese, butter, and herbal tonics. Life is on pause at the moment, but she has been happier living outside of the rat race, dissapointing everyone but herself.

(*Written in 2016, while the author was in film school)

Brian Tracy calls this “eating your frogs.” These days I feel like I’ve been trying to eat a frog sandwich.

You see, I finally took up a scriptwriting elective this semester. While on break from film school I realized I wanted to be first and foremost a storyteller. Akira Kurosawa said in one of his interviews that if one wanted to become a director, one should start being a scriptwriter first. That had been my motivation for quite some time.

Being subjected to criticism is nothing new to anyone in the arts. We’ve had our short films, photographs and concepts scrutinized, even crushed by professors and peers. I’d like to think that I take these criticisms well. In fact I appreciate the comments I get from my professor because I can see what he’s looking for and what I’m lacking in structure, flow, and in the meat of the story.

But there’s one thing that’s been bothering me throughout the weeks. It was the comment “masyadong burgis, hindi ako maka-relate” (it’s too bourgeoisie, I cannot relate.)

It’s a feedback a classmate of mine also received from a different course. In that same course I also got the comment: “It’s not independent cinema enough.” (but what is indie? is it not possible to put forth a progressive material within a mainstream framework?)

I do understand where these professors are coming from. I am aware of the struggles that our people face. And as the bourgeoisie class studying in a state university- we’re expected to amplify the voices of the marginalized and oppressed. But it also felt like how one would feel if you were to make a film about a middle class family, show it to a first world audience and the first world would wag its fingers and say “your country is poor, why are you making films about the middle class?”

This was actually an anecdote from Marlon Rivera, the director of Babae sa Septic Tank (2011) At the Vancouver International Film Festival, Marlon explained why they decided to produce Babae sa Septic Tank. It was because when they were showing their previous film  100 (2008) in international film circuits, a lot of viewers were reacting as if the only stories that could come from the Philippines should be poverty stories.

This is how I felt with the way my professor was handling our class. I understood that we should create more diverse stories and provide equal opportunities for filmmakers from different backgrounds but was it necessary to slam down the seed of an idea before it ever had a chance to grow? This was after all, an introductory class to screenwriting. We all came from different backgrounds and ideologies. The story can be tweaked, made more progressive, inclusive and accessible as we develop the necessary skills. But also, are our stories not valid? Should they not exist? Why are we denying the existence of the Filipino middle class?

I think that’s dangerous and Chimamanda Andichie says it most eloquently:

“The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story. Our lives, our cultures, are composed of many overlapping stories. ”

Are the middle class’ struggle trivial just because they are in a much better position? Funnily enough I’m reminded of Kathryn Bernardo’s line in Barcelona, “I may not have a typical OFW story but I have a story to tell.” 

As a Filipino immigrant I’ve always been frustrated by the lack of diversity in our OFW films. There’s a population of us that aren’t exactly working in the medical field or didn’t grow up impoverished. This is why I enjoyed Barcelona: A Love Untold, because it represented the OFW community very well.

OFWs are composed of domestic help, caregivers, professionals, laborers and that one person who feels superior after they marry into whiteness. Ah! the Donya Victorina archetype – products of internalized racism, something quite common among the population. The film has its lapses like cliche lines and some ill-placed drama but this mainstream film (something that most of those in film school would scoff at) is actually one of the OFW films that managed to tell multiple stories. It broke stereotypes in a way that some “indie” films never had.

I credit my scriptwriting class because I was able to dissect Barcelona’s screenplay and pinpoint parts of the story that could have made it stronger. Still, I felt bad the past few weeks. I did take the class because I wanted to learn how to write but there is a disconnect somewhere. My professor and I are not on the same page *wink.

I wished it didn’t have a grade equivalent or forced dropping because I want to continually learn how to write. It’s sad how my idealism for film school went down the drain. I’m back in film school because I plan on creating stories that aren’t out there yet. The thing is, I’ve been bumping into this kind of roadblock in university- the place I least expected to hinder my goals.

But all I have to do is survive. Yes, i’ll do what you guys want, make “non-burgis, indie film” kind of stories, i’ll bend but not break, get at least a minimum of 3.0 grade if only for the diploma.

I’ll just eat this shit sandwich. This frog, this frog sandwich!

And as I lament the struggles of film school, I remember a comment my mom left on Facebook:

“Be bamboo-like bend when you need to but spring right back. Compromise without losing your essence.”

To many more shit sandwiches in the future!

2 thoughts on “The Artist and Her Sh*t Sandwich

  • this is such a brave and deeply felt piece! i always wondered what it would have been like if i stayed a couple more years at school to develop my grit. i have so much more yet to learn in this space. so glad to find this nook you made! Wonderful

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