Much ado about time: Notes on 'Comet'

Ticket to Comet

Written and directed by Sam Esmail, Comet tells the story of “now” girl Kimberly (Emmy Rossum) and “five minutes from now” guy Dell (Justin Long).

“I don’t like time,” says Kimberly, who finds the whole idea of a beginning, middle, and end restrictive. As someone who lives “in the now,” she enjoys things like paintings, for they are there to be experienced whenever and however she wants. Meanwhile, Dell, who labels himself a “five minutes from now person,” is addled with fear, always pre-empting a disaster that may or may not happen.

The two protagonists’ perspective on time serves as a driving force of the film, which is set in parallel universes. As how Kimberly may have liked it, the story is narrated through a series of time jumps and with changing color palettes, allowing the audience to take in the moment as a fragment that can stand on its own.

We see glimpses of their first meeting, falling out, break-up, reunion and reconciliation, yet never in that order. Fuzzy as a comet, though, the film at some point feels like it’s going in circles.

Putting its soporific tendencies aside, Comet manages to be cute, funny and romantic while it shows the tough, and mostly mundane, realities of a relationship — lies that both sustain and ruin a partnership, dodging commitment, and pure disappointment by the other’s words and actions.

Following a story that bounces back and forth through time is the least of a filmgoer’s concern when watching Comet. It’s following the quick-fire exchanges between Kimberly and Dell that moviegoers should watch out for. They move on to the next clever remark before you get to fully digest the preceding one.

KIMBERLY: You don’t deserve me.
DELL: Good. I want someone I don’t deserve.

* * *

DELL: I like you because you like me… That’s what we want in a relationship. It’s looking for someone who will love you the way you love yourself.

These lines are delivered to perfection by the two leads. Long and Rossum made a convincing pretty girl / awkward guy pair. Their characters’ differences naturally go beyond their looks and how they’ll follow through will keep the audience on their seats. As Kimberly learns (or argues), “It doesn’t have to look good on paper to feel good.”

Despite its references to the celestial and dream-like feel, Comet encourages lovers to take risks and not leave their fate to the stars. It tells you to go ahead and introduce yourself to that beautiful lady alongside her handsome date, spare some time for that weird boy, express love. Grab that chance because if it slips, you might have to travel to another world just to find it again.

—Originally published on GIST.PH

AJ on OS

To “the goth kid whom everyone evades during lunch break, the pack of punks hanging out at the back of the building, or that offbeat kid who, to be honest, just don’t give a shit” — pardon the labels, but if you relate to these personas in any way — OS is for you.

Latin for “bone”, OS is the name, material and mantra of the street accessory brand established three years ago by partners AJ Omandac and Paul Jatayna. “In history, jewelry loosely started with bones as adornments, either as prize for a hunt or even war. We thought it would really be awesome if somehow we make it contemporary,” shares AJ.

The idea, however, of harvesting real bones was a challenge. Not to mention it’s fairly impossible to export or reproduce it in a humane, let alone environmental method.

It wasn’t until AJ and Paul chanced upon artist Leeroy New, who taught them the basics of mould-making and resin casting. “From there we practiced and experimented until we got it right,” he continues. And OS Accessories was born.

Bone is at the core of everything OS. “Bones are naturally dark and beautiful. The OS design philosophy always revolves around that edgy, and sometimes dark aesthetic,” says AJ.

Looking at the pieces, you’ll see exactly what he means and concede that theirs are creations that can rightfully represent a subculture that continues to challenge the norms. “Edgy” is being overused nowadays but OS Accessories may serve as an accurate definition.

One has to wonder, though: How far can you deviate from the norm while still maintaining a lucrative job? How difficult is it for art and business to share the same space?

“I think design is just that: art and business. Design is not successful if it’s just one or the other. It has to be both beautiful and usable, and therefore sellable,” explains AJ. “It’s a tough balancing act, especially in our kind of environment (our country). That’s why we opted to focus more on the international market. In this scenario we can still practice the brand’s design philosophy without so much compromise.”

He adds that another concern, especially in fashion, is the shifting taste of people. “But trusting your instincts and smart actions will always trump these challenges,” he says.

True enough, following their instinct led them closer to the dream of growing into a respectable fashion house. Since OS Accessories entered the fashion scene in 2011, it appeared in editorials in glossies like Harper’s Bazaar China, Dazed and Confused Korea, and Elle Magazine.

The products also featured in international pop acts’ music videos. One of the Bangtan Boys donned the seacage cap in “We Are Bulletproof Pt. 2”, while the ribcage harness was worn in Girls Generation’s “I Got A Boy”.

“Who would have known that our simple idea of bone jewelry would still be running after three years, and worn by people we only dream of in places we’ve never been to?” ends AJ.

—Originally published on GIST

Elegance

Happy new year from the comfort of my apartment.

Last night I was saying that New Year is very much over-rated because we're merely talking about the passage of time. Ten o'clock becoming eleven, Wednesday overtaking Tuesday, and so on.

But I feel like conversing and that first sentence was this occasion's version of Good afternoon how are you?

Me? I'm doing fine. Going back to the first sentence again, I'm living in an apartment now. In my own space since November last year.

It was about the same time I took on a new job in the same company. And that was right after I got my driving license.

And before the year ended, December 30 to be exact, I bought a new phone, which I'm using now to blog this (and which I used to shoot the attached photo).

All these activities, acquired possessions, and changes make me feel, well, good. Not because something's happening in my life but because I am making things happen.

2014's theme is open doors. And because Mel gave me 'The elegance of the hedgehog' as a Christmas gift, am making 2015 all about elegance.

But for now it's just a nice-sounding idea. No concrete plans yet. I think, unlike what many nice, well-meaning people say, I aim to create beauty on the outside so that it will affect me positively on the inside.

I do take care of myself but this time I have to purposefully create who I am. Don't worry, I know that true art conceals itself.

Our stories reframed

“Real conversation with someone means looking into their eyes. When we spend time talking, we see parts of ourselves through the other person; and no matter the differences, we see that we all have something in common,” said Jose Edsel Diego and Biel Sabas, creators of Perceive.

The artwork presents two faces — one dismantled and one in its complete form with eyes made of mirrors — signifying the person underneath the face, the person whom we share the same stories with.

It is one of the art installations that constellate “Reframed,” the latest edition of College of Saint Benilde (CSB) Multimedia Arts Festival (MMAF), held last November 28 – 30 at Green Sun, Makati City.

The annual event is part of the CSB-MMA curriculum and this year, the young artists were asked to bare themselves in their creations. The result is an unapologetically personal portfolio. Walking around the exhibit hall is like walking into a big confessional. Yet instead of shock, contempt, or pity, you feel empathy and a sense that a huge piece of yourself safely belongs here. Just as with “Perceive,” to experience an art installation in “Reframed” is to have a dialogue with one’s self.

“Our story is your story. And vice versa. This is the premise of ‘Reframed’ as a convergence of narratives on lives lived and re-imagined. Multimedia storytelling is at the forefront of these expressions,” noted Karen Ocampo Flores, who curated the exhibit along with Sharon Mapa-Arriola.

“The art that we showcase here is applied media. Functional art,” added exhibit director and adviser Lou Hansel Gonzales. “You can interact with the artworks and the artists are present to share their own perspective, so you’ll know the stories that shaped their art.”

Also telling their stories in a forum dubbed Conversations were creatives in different industries. Among those who generously gave their views on the creative life were comedian and filmmaker Ramon Bautista; wedding videography company Treehouse Story (which team comprises of CSB-MMA graduates); husband-and-wife Wincy Ong and CJ de Silva-Ong; and former Ogilvy & Mather Philippines CEO Peachy Pacquing.

The three-day arts fair culminated with a live performance by Up Dharma Down. Continuing the thread of multimedia narration, CSB-MMA students synced the band’s music with video installations mapped into a 360-degree projection. Needless to say, the project’s ambition was on a grand scale. One of the songs even featured clips from NASA. “It’s a first in the portfolio and I think it’s also a first for Up Dharma Down,” said Gonzales.

The short concert was a perfect celebration of multimedia practice, as the audience was in the midst of a shared experience crafted by various artists in their chosen modes of expression.

“Reframed,” through the mix of artistic and communicative media, from painting and sculpture to motion graphics and augmented reality, reinforces the idea that our stories are both specific and universal. Each of us, despite what our facade narrates, has hidden tales of fear, imprisonment, madness, and ultimately begs to be heard.

—Originally published on GIST

Gained

What follows may undermine the pain of loss, of panghihinayang I suffered after seeing termites devour the spines and edges of my treasured books.

I say treasured, but in truth I didn't treat them as such. Those books were gone even before the pests reached them because (it hurts to say this) I abandoned poetry.

Lost Alice Fulton, Lucie Brock-Broido, Elizabeth Bishop, Luise Gluck, and Edna St Vincent Millay to termites. My fault or the world's?
— Razel Estrella (@fishpeep) November 30, 2014

Two days later, when I accepted that some things are filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster, this happened:

Knowing very well that trolls, bots, and fake identities are everywhere online, I double-checked if it was indeed Alice Fulton. My research showed it was her. So I followed, and in the same day:

*

Dammit I misspelled Louise. Apologies.

Private

It's easier to get into my pants than inside my mind.

Bag brag

My Hedgren Eveline tote

Excuse me but I just had another fashion breakthrough.

So usually the case is, at least for me I think, you watch runway shows then covet what's being modelled.

Tonight, I saw the Hedgren Eveline tote I bought last August launched in the Hegren Style Fair. They even showcased the same print!

Rawr.

The bag featured in the Hedgren Style Fair

For what am I?

People do not love us for simply being us. As even ourselves have a flimsy vision of who we truly are.

We fall in love with potential, and that's okay, even recommended.

Because if not for self-improvement, what other use do we have for love?

Upgrade

Smoothly, successfully downloaded OS X Yosemite

Seize the moment, live to the point of tears, YOLO. And when it is time to let go, let go.

Because nothing lasts. Material things, particularly gadgets, teach me, remind me this.

Recently, my Nokia almost died and I resuscitated it with a hard reset. Meaning I lost all data: contacts, messages, notes, et cetera. I had no backup, since the Nokia suite is not available on Mac—well I researched and there are ways to back up but it was too much of a hassle.

The loss wasn't a big deal. There is only one phone number important to me. Information I need to survive are saved in my brain.

I love my MacBook, I love Blogger. In my wildest fears, my laptop simply refuses to boot and all my blog posts are wiped out. I am both ready and not ready for that.

Kids say

the darndest, most honest things.

So this little boy visited our office and invaded my cubicle.

First, he called one of my colleagues, "Taba!"

Then he asked, "Saan daddy niya?" referring to the pig in Angry Birds (which he was playing on my cell phone).

Finally, when he remarked, "Ang galing ko!" for cruising through a level in Angry Birds, I retorted, "Tsamba".

"Ano yung 'tsamba'?" he said in response, in all sincerity, with full attention and anticipation with the knowledge I was about to impart. Unfortunately, embarrassingly, I was lost for words.

Guys, how do you explain "tsamba"?

A few good things

Things have been happening at the same time in the past couple of months, thus excitement, anxiety, and photos overload.

1. Home. I shared about it last May and now I can slowly move in. As I've already said to a few friends, my invitation goes, Visit me and I'll serve you pressed coffee, ube hopia, and play piano for you.

Clockwise from left: Keys to my new place, construction phase, constructed phase

2. Driving. I've put this off for years and if all goes well, I'll get my license next week. Wish me luck! And because the universe ceaselessly teaches, I came across this poster on a Starbucks bulletin board:

You might learn a thing or two as well.

3. Work's kinda fun and I kinda look good doing it. One of the perks of my job is I don't need to take a selfie, I come with a photographer. Heh. Kidding aside, it's a challenge to be healthy and graceful when the office and everything associated with it (traffic, yes?) stress you out. You have to beat it and show your problems who's boss.

At the (clockwise from top left): Brill house, 28 Stories of Giving photo exhibit launch,
Spotify launch in the Philippines, Sophie Winners Night 2014, Wicked show,
Schwarzkopf 2014 Style-TEC fashion show

To think, to care

David Foster Wallace's commencement speech addressed to Kenyon College 2005 graduates is the most profound and practical. And frankly the most important:

1) It zeroes in on what education is for: the system to develop critical thinking.

As I'm sure you guys know by now, it is extremely difficult to stay alert and attentive, instead of getting hypnotised by the constant monologue inside your own head (may be happening right now). Twenty years after my own graduation, I have come gradually to understand that the liberal arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience. Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about "the mind being an excellent servant but a terrible master". [my emphasis]

2) It shows how critical thinking helps us become decent human beings, creating a better world.

Here is just one example of the total wrongness of something I tend to be automatically sure of: everything in my own immediate experience supports my deep belief that I am the absolute centre of the universe; the realest, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely think about this sort of natural, basic self-centredness because it's so socially repulsive. But it's pretty much the same for all of us. It is our default setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: there is no experience you have had that you are not the absolute centre of. The world as you experience it is there in front of YOU or behind YOU, to the left or right of YOU, on YOUR TV or YOUR monitor. And so on. Other people's thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real.

3) It affirms my belief in intelligence and kindness as one value, and mind and heart as one machine.

The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.

That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race, the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.

I just think that this speech will appeal more to those who already had a taste of the so-called real world instead of fresh grads. To my fellow adults, I invite—no urge you to (re)read.

Attention

'Absolute attention is prayer.'

Over lunch I was reading Alan Bradley's 'A red herring without mustard' and the main character, Flavia, said something similar:

Thinking and prayer are much the same thing… Prayer goes up and thought comes down—or so it seems. As far as I can tell, that’s the only difference.

My own thoughts switched between the food, the book, and the window. It was a nice meal of chicken roulade I was having while outside the skies were drab for two o’clock. It didn't take long before rain fell.

Back to the book, now dessert. A few bites and pages after, my head turned again to the window. The rain stopped, but I squinted at the grounds, checking for traces of water.

There appeared to be none and before I could even spot a mirage, my view gradually shone yellow.

It was the first time nature made me smile the way a human being does—slowly, unexpectedly.

It was the first time I caught myself smiling.

Update (September 2, 2014):

I came across Phillip Lopate's Against Joie de Vivre wherein he also remarked on the relationship between attention and prayer and living in the moment. He wrote:

The argument of both the hedonist and the guru is that if we were but to open ourselves to the richness of the moment, to concentrate on the feast before us, we would be filled with bliss. I have lived in the present from time to time, and I can tell you that it is much over-rated.

. . . .

The present has a way of intruding whether you like it or not; why should I go out of my way to meet it? Let it splash on me from time to time, like a car going through a puddle, and I, on the sidewalk of my solitude, will salute it grimly like any other modern inconvenience.

. . . .

Even for survival, it's not necessary to focus one's full attention on the present. The instincts of a pedestrian crossing the street in a reverie will usually suffice. Alertness is alright as long as it is not treated as a promissory note on happiness. Anyone who recommends attention to the moment as a prescription for grateful wonder is only telling half the truth. To be happy one must pay attention, but to be unhappy one must also have paid attention.

Yellow and blue

Feeling yellow and blue

Feeling like a failure for, at 31, am already taking pain relievers.

Took the day off to drop by the hospital and have my back checked. Because of bad habits, I over-stressed my muscles, which resulted into nasty spasms the last couple of days.

Spent the rest of the afternoon at a nearby cafe, reading. Literature, after all, is my preferred drug. Coincidentally, the colors of the cup and saucer matched the colors of my jacket matched the colors of my mood.

Glenda's visit

Many might begin their story the way I will: Glenda woke me up with her winds. But perhaps only I would continue it this way.

*

My fortress's two sources of power:
a fully-charged MacBook and a scented candle

While nervous curiosity and fright were felt, I knew I was safe from where I was, at home—or as a friend joked, in my fortress.

And I returned to the safety of sleep.

When I woke again, it was past noon. The rain was no more and so was Glenda's singing. Taking their place was sadness.

For in my world and for who I am, this typhoon was a brief respite from normalcy.

*

When I was in grade school, already slothful at a young age, I was too anxious of homework, projects, recitations, and imagined death as a way out. ‘What if I died? Then I’d be free from all this (I didn’t have a name for it then, but the word that best signifies the signified is) responsibility.’ But at that age I already understood as well that reality is disappointing and even death would not come to save the day.

So I would be smiling a sweet, happy smile when, very early in the morning, my father would come to my bed and say, ‘Sleep some more, classes were suspended’.

The difference between then and now is back then, I would completely enjoy the rainy day.

Yes I get to savour brewing coffee, reading essays and chapters of a book, but these sweet pauses are now interrupted by thoughts of tasks—tomorrow, within the week, in the following months and years that death will allow me to live.

*

Again, I am a lucky girl. This calamity, just like previous calamities, is but an inconvenience. Truth is I found a new appreciation for blackouts, because concern floats and of course, the quiet—in color and tone.

Because, really, what do you go back to when the power is back? —The same routine, the same excesses, the same noises.

*

This storm is going to be memorable for its winds and for its kindness. I used to work in a BPO company and during Typhoon Milenyo, we were expected to report for duty. Today, two of my superiors called to say, ‘Stay home’ the way a father would whisper, ‘Go back to sleep’ to a child who was never ready to grow up.

Silent story-keepers

It's one thing to feel lucky for being able to do what you love (say, write) for a living and quite another to do it on your own terms (say, write about what you actually love the way you want to).

Browsing through my photo albums, I came across the beautiful images of Manila American Cemetary and Memorial. I was assigned to do a story on it for Rektikano Magazine and, to date, it's been one of my favorite published works. Below is the original/unedited draft.

*

Silent story-keepers
Appreciating the bitter-sweet beauty of the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial with John Silva

We may need to have made an indelible mark on our lives, to have married the wrong person, pursued an unfulfilling career into middle age or lost a loved one before architecture can begin to have any perceptible impact on us, for when we speak of being ‘moved’ by a building, we allude to a bitter-sweet feeling of contrast between the noble qualities written into a structure and the sadder wider reality within which we know them to exist. A lump rises in our throat at the sight of beauty from an implicit knowledge that the happiness it hints at is the exception.

—Alain de Botton, The Architecture of Happiness, 2006

Among the many stories hidden under the grand narrative that is World War II is the story of the Sullivan brothers from Iowa. Francis, George, Joseph, Madison and William Sullivan signed up for the navy. When the recruiter told them they had to board different ships, the oldest Sullivan said no. “Either you have us together or not have us at all,” he insisted, and on to the war they went, travelling in one ship.

In September of 1943, the ship carrying the Sullivans was hit by a Japanese torpedo. Three of the five brothers instantly died while two hung on a life raft with the other passengers. One of the two brothers was so weak that he had to let go. The remaining Sullivan, after seeing each of his brother die, decided to let go himself and sink to his death.

Back in Iowa, Mr and Mrs Sullivan opened the door of their house to two Navy officers wearing a grave expression on their faces. The Sullivan parents, knowing what this all meant, asked, “Which one?” And the Navy men answered them with the fact: “All of them.”

The night was spent in national mourning. President Roosevelt phoned the Sullivans’s parents to apologize and give his condolences. Days later a law exempting siblings of men who already died in the war was passed.

Remains

Walls of names

When the war ended, the American government inquired the relatives of those who died if they wish to have the remains of their loved ones sent back to their homes. Most agreed, but the others suggested burying them with their comrades in arms. The suggestion prevailed and 14 military American cemeteries around the world were built and administered by the American government, one of which is the Manila American Cemetery and Memorial in Fort Bonifacio (then Fort William McKinley), Metro Manila, the largest and the only one in the Pacific.

17,502 marble crosses are arranged in concentric rows in the memorial. The names on the crosses face outward. Of these remains, around 3,000 are un-identified—but only by humans. On their crosses is a poignant inscription: Here rests in honored glory a comrade in arms known but to God. The un-named are interspersed with the named, signifying how they are all equally remembered. About 20 to 40 bodies were interlocked and could not be dismantled that they had to be buried together. On the cross they share is the inscription: Here rest in honored glory two comrade in arms. Whether they were intertwined in an embrace or in a last effort to protect one another, only they and God knew.

There are, however, those who had nothing left of them but their names. 36,285 bodies were still missing after the war, the five Sullivan brothers included. For them, two hemicycles containing 24 pairs of travertine fin walls were erected. Their names chiseled for posterity on the walls.

Dressing problems

Wednesday 11am, managed to drag myself out of bed, showered brushed teeth put on whatever clothes. A glance at the mirror—out of habit—didn't like what I saw, changed outfits three or four times.

Walang gana, we say in Tagalog. That's how I felt. Despite this lack of enthusiasm or better yet a mental readiness to face the day, I couldn't go out looking pangit.

And that was something to be happy about. That I still cared. That I haven't accepted defeat and instead 'dressed up, fought, [made] amends'.

*

On a related note, I came across this article about Elizabeth Hawes today. I haven't heard of her and, as the author remarked, neither have you. The piece, however, served as a good introduction to the American fashion designer. Let me end this blog with Hawes' words so you can begin reading her:

If you’ve solved your dressing problems satisfactorily for yourself, you are bound to attract the people you want to attract and for the reasons you want to attract them: a better job, a new mate, a competent lover, a fresh friend.

A lonely office

Sadness is saddest when quiet. When you find it inside a cold house, when love has learned late how to express itself.

Those Winter Sundays
Robert Hayden

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?

To me and a couple of friends, the above is our go-to Father's Day poem. Regardless of season and kind of relationship, though, the poem speaks of the unglamorous, everyday—even administrative—nature of love.

As pointed out in this essay (about knowing when one is ready to marry), 'love' has two varieties: being loved and loving, yet we have this 'immature fixation on the former'. Whether we are children, friend, or the other half of a couple, we are guilty of this.

It does take work. Love's effects which are obvious to us may seem magical, but we must remember the momentary magic is borne out of meticulous planning and tedious practice. Not even a blood bond can warrant love's endurance.

Lyric

Colors of the Wind didn't hold my attention during the time Pocahontas became popular. Last Thursday, though, I was at an event with a musicals theme and the song was performed. Then it hit me: Paint with all the colors of the wind is such a beautiful line.

Well, the proper thing to do afterwards is search for it on the net—music and lyrics—listen a hundred times then sing along.

So I discovered more stunning lines. Sing with all the voices of the mountain... Roll in all the riches all around you / and, for once, never wonder what they're worth... You'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon / for whether we are white- or copper-skinned...

More surprise. Further research taught me that Stephen Schwartz was the one who wrote it. But I saved the best for last. Below is my favorite part of the song, where 'colors of the wind' is placed in context and turned into poetry:

You can own the Earth and still
All you'll own is earth until
You can paint with all the colors of the wind.

Dwell

Barely there

Nothing ignites the imagination than awareness of limits.

In this specific case, limits mean floor area and cash.

Nothing energizes the spirit than building and building beautifully.

Let's see how this'll turn out.

Maybe by September I have more colorful photos to share.

Maybe by December I'll invite you for a pre- or post-holiday dinner.