A Spoonful of Sugar 2003, v. 21
Pre-Christmas Highs
By Niña Rica Marie L. Terol


Christmas is my favorite season of the year, because it always brings me in touch—and even closer—to family, friends, and people whom I care about the most. Although holding reunions and parties is the most overused and, sometimes, underrated activity of the season, I look forward to such events the way a six-year-old gets sleepless nights over opening presents on Christmas Eve. I spend days—even weeks—preparing for get-togethers, and a significant portion of my budget is spent on looking good just for those occasions. I’m openly vain, irrepressibly kikay, and hopelessly romantic.
* * * * *
Last Friday gave me and my friends a good reason to look good, chill out with more friends, and have a cozy, intimate time. My Ateneo friends—Brian, Nicole, Emyr, Mel, John, Benjo, Giselle, and Joel—and I threw a party for fellow young alumni and other beautiful people, and we had a really good time in spite of the stress that the party preparations caused us.

We held it at the poolside of Two Salcedo Place in Makati, and it was just the perfect backdrop for an intimate holiday affair. The shrubbery was adorned with lights, the stone steps and benches were lit with candles, and the entire place was wrapped in a blanket of romance and possibilities. I ended up drinking a couple of drinks too many (Jagermeister Herb Liqueur rules!!!), and was giggling and hyperactive by around midnight. What I loved about it, though, was how I reconnected with old friends, met new ones, and expanded my social circle.

If ever you get invited to a cocktail event where you know nobody else but the host, try going. You’d be amazed by how fun these “acquaintance parties” can be. But if you want to attend one, and still don’t have any in your calendar, I’d gladly prepare something. Seriously, aside from writing, I could throw parties over and over and over again.

By the way, a little plugging: thanks to Red Crab and Gayuma for the wonderful food! And, to all single Ateneans out there, stay tuned for another Persuasion Evening in February!

* * * * *
Sunrises are events that we take for granted everyday. We wake up to see the sun already high up in the heavens, quite forgetting the miracle that occurs every time it rises to overpower the darkness of night. We rush to work (or, in my case, my PC a few steps away from my bed) without greeting the warm ball that lights our days, and we rush back home (or stay stuck in the office or in Metro Manila traffic) without bidding it farewell for the night. The sun is a wonderful creation; and sunrises are magnificent moments that often come and go without much notice or fanfare.

Two days ago, I had a taste of my first December sunrise in years when my favorite guy treated me to a spectacular view of the Bay (and Metro Manila) at dawn. It was another one of those surreal rooftop moments, as we watched the sky gradually transform itself from an opaque blanket of deep purple, to a sheer sheet of tangerine, periwinkle, lavender, and gold. (Guys, ask your girlfriends, sisters, or mothers what “tangerine” and “periwinkle” are.)

As I lay down on the bean bag and fuzzy blanket that we threw over the cold concrete, I admired the four canvasses that made up the early morning sky. One side (the one over Manila Bay) looked like an oil pastel painting, in tangerine and lavender, that was carefully blended by tender, loving hands. As it got closer to the Cavite area, the sky became a sponge painting with little white puffs of clouds dotting the periwinkle “skyscape”. It would have made a nice design for a child’s room. Then, as you head farther east, towards “mainland” Las Piñas and Parañaque, the canvass looked as if it had been painted using wide, feathery strokes, by a child of nine or ten who just wanted to have some fun with a paintbrush. It looked like it could have been done in oil or acrylic, instead of in pastel or watercolor. The sky over Makati (my favorite city) was a study in contrasts: somber lavender highlighting the sunrays that streamed around and downwards, creating three golden “eyes” that watched over us as we gazed back in silent reverence.

To inject some fun into the occasion, Paul brought out a bubble bottle from his bayong backpack, and started blowing bubbles in different directions. He was like a little kid trapped in a bearded man’s body, and I was an equally little girl who lazily tried to catch the bubbles as I stayed lying on the bean bag.

That episode clearly beats red flowers at dawn.

And, for a moment, I felt sad for the rest of Metro Manila who had to rush off to the workaday world, the multitude who went through the motions of bathing, eating, and commuting to work with nary a glance at the beautiful morning sky. That Monday morning again affirmed why I did what I did—sacrificing a secure and financially stable job for a career that offered me love, happiness, and magnificent sunrises. True, I may not have huge sums in my bank account, but that morning by the Bay will keep me going long after I’ve used up whatever amount is currently associated with my ATM.

* * * * *
Sugar lovers will surely get a high and a kick out of the newest, hippest, chocolatiest place in town! Max Brenner Chocolate Bar opened last week at Greenbelt 3 (beside Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf), and the place is already regularly swarming with people just a few days into its existence. A must-try for chocoholics like me: the Italian Thick Chocolatte—a creamy, sinful, dark chocolate concoction cooked with vanilla cream. It’s pretty pricey for what it is (Php 168 per “hug mug”), but—trust me—it gave me a chocolate rush that lasted well beyond midnight (and I started sipping at 6pm)!

A bonus: it’s overflowing with eye candy; last night, I saw Lizzie and Kit Zobel with the Zobel sisters and some friends, models Raya Mananquil and Valerie de los Santos, even John Estrada and Vanessa del Bianco, and a handful of hot-looking guys who, of course, I would only appreciate from a distance. Brian and Mel had a kick out of them, though, and seeing them having fun was enough for me.

* * * * *
I didn’t mean to sound Tim Yap- or Anton San Diego-ish in this issue, but… hey, it’s party season! One week to go `till Christmas Eve!

(Written: December 17, 2003)

A Spoonful of Sugar 2003, v.20
City Lights
By Niña Rica Marie L. Terol


I love Makati in December. I just got back from there after a nice evening out with my friends Brian, Nicole, John, Mel, and Emyr—and we had fun condo-hopping at Salcedo and Legaspi Villages. I love how that little urban center metamorphoses into a slumbering giant just before dawn, as if it had just come home from an intoxicating night out. With the Christmas air, the city lights, and its ubiquitous décor, Makati makes me feel all warm, fuzzy, and jolly inside—making me a prime target for a major shopping spree. I just hope I get to control my urges this year. But with several parties up ahead, I seriously doubt it.

I know lots of people hate Makati during the holidays, but it’s my second home, and being in it makes me feel so alive. (I’m just so saccharin, aren’t I? It makes even me feel sick.)

* * * * *

People’s responses to my last article have been both encouraging and amusing. Encouraging, because they remind me that people do read my pieces (and I should therefore try to write more intelligent stuff); and amusing, because the reactions I get vary from person to person, from issue to issue. My favorite ones for this issue were Charo’s and Gen’s, mainly because their views differed from mine to a certain extent, but they were no less engaging and valid.

Charo reminded me about this article going around e-mail, written by a 75-year-old man who had once decided to stay in this country in hopes of seeing it move forward. It never really did, and what he wrote in his piece reeked of frustration over what this country had become. It’s just the sort of thing that will make you want to get up and head to the nearest friendly immigration lawyer—especially since the writer has lived far longer than most (of not all) of us here, and has probably experienced enough to say, “Kids, game’s over. Move out while you can.”

I don’t really blame him, and I don’t really blame my friends who are leaving the country to seek greener pastures. I actually envy them, in a way, because they have the guts to leave home, family, and friends behind to explore uncharted territory. Leaving your roots is a scary thing to do, and I suppose my “overpatriotism” is a defense mechanism of sorts, a way of justifying my decision to stay put and try to work things out here. And maybe I’ve hit some raw nerves by what I said in my last piece, but I really think that, just as some people ought to leave to fulfill their life missions, some people ought to stay behind. I guess I just happen to be a part of the second group.

Or maybe I’m really just chicken shit.

But I’d really rather hold on to my naivete and try to be happy doing what I do, than be a stark realist and go around town with frustration on my brow and wrinkles on my forehead. I guess I’m just built to be chirpy. (I mean, everyone needs at least a little sugar, right?)

* * * * *

Gen, on the other hand, talked about the role that mass media plays in glorifying Western culture, making the masses aspire for a value system and lifestyle that’s just not Pinoy. (Read all about it in her blog, http://wangie.blogspot.com.) But, you gotta hand it to mass media, Gen! From sultry, Thalia-ic screen goddesses, we now have Asian idols like Jerry Yan and Barbie Xu. (Did I even spell their names correctly??) At least we’re getting closer to home.

But I’m not saying I agree with all that. I read a couple of weeks ago that Jerry Yan was reportedly paid Php80 million to make an appearance here, either for a concert or a Bench commercial. Well… at least he was endorsing a Filipino brand. I love Bench, and I love how it’s conquering the Asian, and even Western, markets. I love Human, Kamiseta, and Bayo, too. If we can’t conquer the world through politics and business, then we might as well conquer them through retail. I’ve always known that Pinoys had a good eye and sense for fashion… right, Brian Tenorio? We might as well put our talents there to good use.

* * * * *

Fashion’s been a lot on my mind these days, with a major party happening in just a little over 24 hours (Persuasion Evening, dear Ateneans! Let’s chill out together on Friday at 9pm!), and Christmas clocking in exactly two weeks from now. The holidays always make me want to dress up and look good, and that’s probably where you will all see Western traces of me. Yes, I love my country; I love indigenous culture; and I love wearing ethnic-looking clothes, but I love Carrie Bradshaw and Sex and the City, too. And, aside from my boyfriend’s name, my favorite male names are Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo. Now if only I could actually have their shoes instead of just saying their names in my dreams.

But, okay, since I’m still in patriotic mode, I’d happily settle for Janilyn or anything by U from Rustan’s. Buy Pinoy pa rin.

* * * * *

Christmas is just around the corner, and you’re probably as harassed as hell trying to get your Christmas shopping done. Before you use up your entire Christmas bonus, however, please remember to do a little Christmas deed, and support a charity or non-profit organization in your community.

As an advanced Christmas greeting, I am pledging my support once again to the Jesuit Volunteers Philippines—my favorite beneficiary (whose executive director, Mark Lopez, appeared on the front page of the Inquirer a few days ago!)—as well as to Bahay Maria, an orphanage in Bel-Air, Makati, where I spent my 21st birthday. My college friends and I are actually spending this Sunday with the orphans, so I’ll be sure to tell you about that in my next Spoonful.

The city’s abuzz with shopaholics, do-gooders, and pickpockets. I certainly hope you don’t run into—or belong to!—the third category.

A Spoonful of Sugar 2003, v.19
Truly, Proudly Pinoy
By Niña Rica Marie L. Terol


This weekend gave me reasons to be proud for being Pinoy. Despite the flak that we get from the international community for being, supposedly, a nation of corrupt, indolent, movie star worshippers (this comment refers to more than just the elections, believe me), I still believe that we have something to offer the rest of the world.

More importantly, this “something” may be accessed not only by the wealthy or educated; it’s something that’s alive in each of us—if only we choose to embrace it and show it off as our own.

It’s called culture.

Many have already spoken or written about how culture unifies and strengthens a young nation such as ours. There is also a wealth of literature glorifying Philippine culture; and I can’t claim to contribute to these scholarly writings. I know almost nothing of our indigenous culture—I haven’t even seen much of the Philippines. But I saw glimpses of our proud heritage yesterday, when I attended the National Arnis Encounter at the Rizal Coliseum, followed by the last leg of EDZA Harana’s Parañaque tour at Barangay San Antonio.

There was nothing spectacular about both events. But it was in their austerity that I saw the dignity of the Pinoy shine through oh-so-proudly.

The Arnis nationals was held at the Rizal Coliseum’s badminton courts, and, sadly, drew less than 500 participants—most of them coming from Metro Manila. There were no sponsors, no screaming banners announcing the support of this or that company, no fanfare. Just a couple hundred arnisadores, arnis aficionados, and officials from Arnis Philippines who were hell-bent on making this happen, with or without government support.

It’s a pity that the government and other institutions (including my beloved Ateneo, unfortunately) spend millions of pesos for “borrowed” sports—such as basketball, football, and even foreign martial arts—but cannot bestow on our own, indigenous martial art the support that it so deserves.

Arnis traces its origins to the ancient (as in pre-Hispanic) martial arts of kali—armed combat with bladed weapons—but developed during the Spanish colonial period as eskrima (fencing) and was formally christened arnes de mano by Spanish friars who saw how komedya actors simulated kali movements in their ornate performances. Its movements combine the force of martial arts with the grace of dance, and watching it will make you feel the pride and dignity of the Filipino warrior.

The Japanese have their samurai, and, well, we have our arnisadores—men and women who carry sticks but don’t pick fights. They regard their opponents and elders with respect, and they carry with them the Filipino virtues of filial piety, hospitality, and magnanimity wherever they go.

Watch an arnis match, and you’ll see what I mean.

(These guys even hug their opponents after getting beaten with a stick. More importantly, they get beaten with a stick but they don’t really get injured. That’s more than what I can say for college basketball—right, Eagles and Archers?)

Later on in the evening, I was at the EDZA Harana series of Rep. Ed Zialcita, where Paul and his band—along with some homegrown talents—performed for a depressed community in Barangay San Antonio, Parañaque. It was the last leg of Paul’s barangay gigs for the year and, through it all, I saw how music has moved and inspired the masses. More than that, I saw how original, indigenous music restores the Pinoy’s sense of pride and honor, and empowers him/her to think out of the box, seeking creative solutions to everyday challenges.

Imagine a band setup where, instead of the usual drum, keyboard, and electric guitar, you find a cajon, water bottle (as in the five-gallon kind), and kubing. And a hegalong (an odd-shaped, indigenous string instrument), if you’re lucky. Mix that with an acoustic guitar, other percussive instruments, toys (Paul loves making music out of toys), and a little electronica, and you get a cool sound that’s very much a mezcla of Latin, World, and chillout.

Everyone else thinks that the masses are too ignorant and bakya to appreciate these things. We in Parañaque have seen otherwise.

The water bottle and cajon were standouts, and I can just imagine how people in these communities will start making their own instruments or gadgets with junk from the yard. Talk about music, culture, and recycling.

There is much that the Filipino can do. There is much that s/he can be proud of.

I am fortunate to have been exposed to these things. However, there is also only so much that I can experience without being completely overwhelmed, and also only so much that I can write and share. We all have to find moments of inspiration such as these. Moments that make us believe in our culture, heritage, and—more importantly—our potential. Instead of being naysayers and prophesying that “this country is going to the dogs”, why don’t we start moving so that it won’t?

The Filipino is patient, resilient, ingenious, and intelligent. Maybe we just refuse to believe it because we’re scared of the responsibility that comes with such a claim. But I believe it. I’m willing to take responsibility for it. Maybe you should, too.

Then, maybe, future generations will equate Filipino with “imaginative innovator” instead of “domestic helper” or “construction worker”. Then we can all be truly, proudly Pinoy.

(Written: December 7, 2003)

A Spoonful of Sugar 2003, v.18
Makeover for the Holidays… and Beyond
By Niña Rica Marie L. Terol


No, this is not a piece for Cosmo—though God knows how much I’d love to write for the “fun, fearless, female” mag. Reading Andy Maluche’s work, among other things, has led me to realize that I’d want to keep writing and writing for as long as I live (and for as long as my body allows me to). A Spoonful of Sugar is what keeps me sane and grounded, and in love with my work; but for me to be able to sustain this column, I’d have to add a dash of discipline in it. Hence, the makeover:

Beginning today, December 1, 2003, A Spoonful of Sugar will feature shorter, and hopefully more useful, relevant, and/or inspiring pieces every Monday and Thursday of every week. This will allow us to engage in more varied conversations, made interesting by their frequency and brevity. At the same time, it will allow me to improve my craft and stick to self-imposed deadlines.

I will also be accepting more contributions from you, my dear readers. Just make sure that you stick to certain parameters (which I have yet to invent), and tell more people about this column and its blog (http://spoonfulofsugar.blogspot.com).

Enough of Spoonful. I’ve gone through a makeover of my own.

Aside from growing my hair again to look more ladylike and keep the zits out of my forehead, I’ve finally sealed my commitment to my life path by permanently tattooing the words “Lo que mas me importa… es vivir” on my upper-left back. It’s a quote from Gabriel Garcia-Llorca, a Spanish writer and activist who was publicly executed for writing subversive and provocative pieces, like our very own José Rizal. Unlike Rizal, however, Garcia-Llorca was homosexual; but that’s beside the point. I loved how he really lived life passionately and stood up for his principles until the very end. The words loosely mean “What matters most… is to live,” and they come with a stylized dancer who looks every bit like she’s enjoying the dance of life. It was drawn by yours truly, and written in “the Niña font”, designed—of course—by yours truly. (But thanks to world-class tattoo artist Joe Saliendra for a job well done!)

It was a terrific experience, getting a tattoo. It was excruciating and terribly masochistic—the pain was sharp and piercing, and unbearable at times, but it was also exhilarating and therapeutic. Instead of shouting or crying, I simply breathed deeply through the entire procedure. It felt as if each prick of the needle killed something inside me—something old, worn-out, and unnecessary—only to create something new that rejuvenated me and gave me more “oomph”. It was when it hurt the most that I felt so alive.

I can’t wait to show it off to the world. Wait `till I get a picture and post it on Friendster!

The best thing about it all is that I didn’t just choose some half-ass design, like a flower, a butterfly, or a dolphin. (I have nothing against those figures per se, but in my view, if you’re going to subject yourself to that torture anyway, you might as well mark yourself with something original and truly reflective of who you are.) I designed my tattoo; I chose the words that most reflected my philosophy about life; and I even designed my own font. If I were to die today, and someone were to see the tattoo on my back, they’d say that, “Oh, that is so her.” I wouldn’t have done it any other way.

So this is another demonstration, another affirmation, of my path. This tattoo—its words, its symbols, and its meaning—will stay with me until the day I die. It will remind me of what I was born to do, and for what reason I will take a bullet. It is my seal, my brand, my “life logo”.

I highly recommend getting a tattoo to anyone and everyone who is passionate about his or her life purpose. It is a really awesome experience, something that maybe even childbirth will not match.

I can’t wait until I get my next one. Maybe for my birthday.

P.S. Thanks to those who sent me messages after reading the last Spoonful! This is proof that I'm alive and well.

(Written: December 1, 2003)