De-Everything

De-skinned, de-boned, de-everything. A lamb led to the slaughter. I have to re-learn surviving in this environment again. Two things that I've lost during my pro-longed vacation in Oz, foresight and strategic planning. I need to be neurotic again, to think two-three steps ahead for every possible little thing that could go wrong. In my venture to Makati yesterday, I didn't foresee how long the commute would be. I didn't foresee that Butch would take so long to book his Cebu Pacific tickets because the ladies behind the counter were low on vitamins and minerals. Worker drones who obviously didn't care that they do their job properly. We took the MRT from North avenue, I forgot the queues could be so tortuously long and slow. I don't mind walking under the sun anymore, but I forgot the humidity literally makes you a walking sweat machine. I forgot how home is literally your only sanctuary. The streets of Manila are unforgiving. Dirty, noisy, tiring, hostile. Its an extreme sport just getting from point A to point B. I had forgotten how to navigate, second-guessing myself about the layout of the city. Was I gone that long? Don't think so.

I need to be a worry-wart again. I felt so disorganised for my interview/teaching demo today. I hadn't even practiced delivering the damn thing. Once, in the cab on the way. I counted on the adrenaline rush to do it for me...and I think I delivered. The dean is a lovely woman...we spoke for an hour. Well, I did most of the talking...more like rambling really. Predictably she asked me about the role of the Church in politics....I hope she heard the answer she was looking for. Haha. The teaching demo went well...for something I put together at the last minute. The faculty in attendance were from diverse fields, but all from UP. They knew where I came from. We speak the same language...so that was small comfort.

I need to organise again. My hiatus in Australia has rendered me dull. Now, I feel my being coming back to full life. I have renewed respect for the dwellers of this city. We are made of stern stuff. This environment is pushing me to function again in full gear. Ha. I am home. Welcome back sparks. Welcome back. :)

Australia in Pictures

Pieces

Has it been a week? My room is in crazy clutter. Bits and pieces of the past litter each corner. It needs cleaning, like my brain. My life. This bookshelf. I need to get rid of so many books. My infamous historical romances, my fantasies, my guilty pleasure. I used to take comfort in them before leaving for Australia. Like dark chocolate. Dirty, yummy, easy. I have not read a single one in a year. I found myself browsing Book Sale yesterday, but couldn't conjure enough enthusiasm. That comfort is over. All my photocopies are below. Journal articles, entire books. I need to come up with a 20 minute lecture on the European Union. Teaching demo for the Opus Dei on Tuesday. Gawd help me. I left my lectures and more journal articles in J's room. I would've brought them with me, but they were too heavy. A 20 minute lecture. It isn't all that bad, I've delivered monologues longer. I need to impress. Have I learned anything new in Australia? Yes. Not really.

My Klimt prints hang over my bed, sentinels standing guard while I sleep. I had bought them at one of the bouquinistes in Paris years ago. They are my sole comfort now. And my ciggies. I said Iwould quit on my birthday. Three weeks. Maybe next year. Gawd, I'll be twenty-eight. A year older, not necessarily wiser. I have not fully unpacked. My luggage lay strewn on the floor. Still stuff inside. When I find the will to clean my room, in two, three days, it will mean I've moved from this awful place. A week it has been. In limbo still. I am not fully home yet. All that I have left behind. All that is waiting for me here. I saw my best friend the other day, and her new husband, also an old college friend. They looked happy. And old. And settled. All that isn't me at the moment. I need to earn back the years I shed in Australia. I need to be properly cynical and angry again. About things other than myself.

On the way to Shaw the other day, I took the bus lane below the flyover near Galleria by mistake. Lost again. There was a young man who passed in front of the car, pedalling his trisikad furiously. In pursuit were Greenhills Barangay tanods. They were rough with him. We wondered if he stole the trisikad, still laden with black garbage bags. Two, then three more tanods came. The boy would not let go of his prize. I felt curiously detached, like I was dreaming the thing happening before my eyes. It is easy to avoid the unsavoury images of this city. One only need chase her blues away in our malls gigantesques. I was home. Everything old is new again.

Wired

Because I have been gone for a while, I see everything with new eyes. Every day is a re-discovery, some things have surprised me, some continue to disgust. The other day, while waiting for my mom's friend (at Starmall on Shaw), a few things struck me. One, that Filipinas are really a good-looking lot. Maybe I have been around too many Caucasians that the 'novelty' of their exoticness has worn off. Filipinas are gorgeous. And we come in different hues and shapes. Damn. I think I'd been hanging out with a few too many lesbians on campus. Haha.

My first four days were partially spent in four different malls. Imagine that. They are inescapable. They are there so we have no choice but go to them. Life in this city revolve around going to them, for various purposes - to relax, to get the necessities, to meet people. Which drives home the point that whatever economic growth this megalopolis is probably consumption driven. Jesus. One only need look at the urban landscape, the billbaords, the glossy magazines and newspapers that all we are here for is to work and then consume. Pacific Fair on the Gold Coast, supposedly Queensland's largest shopping centre, is probably as large as Powerplant Mall and a lot uglier. And only 2 floors! Remember this conversation I had with a British cabbie back on the Gold Coast? SM Mall of Asia drove them nuts. Our shopping culture is unparalleled, and our malls...I never saw anything comparable in Melbourne or Sydney. Probably the closest in terms of 'chicness' is Southgate (in Melbourne), but it was tiny. One would think we had lots and lots of money. All those people milling around in malls....is there nothing else to do? Nowhere else to go?

Ah basta. From next week, I will stick to the once-a-week in a mall rule. Today and tomorrow don't count because I need to do some 'getting back home' shopping for myself, my mom and our home.

Another mind-boggling thing is the SPEED with which my wifi connection was installed. I went to SM North to apply for the service. All I needed was P999 and my driver's license. I went to the Smart Centre around 3h30. The whole business was completed in 30 minutes. I got a call around 5h saying the installers would come the day after from 3h-5hpm. The day after, they actually came earlier at 10h30. Imagine that!! A wifi connection in less than 24 hours! I remember a decade and a half ago, we waited years(!) to get a PLDT landline. Jesus. Is this a sign of the times?

This country is wired. The latest in gadgets - mobile phones, computing, anything tech-related, we probably have it. I was afraid the wifi speeds would be incredibly slow. But it isn't so bad. The same as my uni during peak weeks. I compare these little tech shops in the shopping centres on the GC to the labyrinthine 'cyberzones' of our malls. Absolutely incomparable. And our internet cafes and shops.....they are peppered all around the metro. Butch was also saying that during their shoot in this far-flung town in Samar, their American crew was surprised that they had an internet shop...which was always full.

We have had a brief sampling of the ramifications of new media in our social lives. My communications professor back in Bond mentioned the "text-power" unleashed during Erap's time. But that was seven years ago. This is now. 24 million internet users in this year alone. A nation young and wired to the teeth. Imagine the possibilities.

Serendipity of the Surreal

I know that we make conscious decisions, for life to be something we make and not the other way around. But sometimes random things, events and people converge in our lives in such a way that makes us wonder, how in the world could it not have been designed by fate?

It just so happens that I am in (still) Australia. And that I am in the Gold Coast. And that I randomly chatted up my friend H. at a bus stop last January. That she also happens to be a postgrad student in my uni. And that she's a practicing journalist. And that we became fast friends. And that she's specialising in media ethics. And that Brian Gorrell is living in a farm near Byron Bay. And that she wanted to do a couple of news articles on him. And that one day was free for us to go see him.

Random? I don't think so.

It felt so surreal, meeting the man behind the blog. Mediated spaces are different from real life. We tend to not realise that there is a real person behind the images and the text. They become caricatures - disembodied from reality. But Brian Gorrell is real.

He was kind enough to pick us up at the bus station at Byron Bay (an hour and a half away from the G.Coast). We drove for 40 minutes to his little hideaway up in the mountains. H asked me to hold the recorder for her, while she asked Brian questions. He spoke almost non-stop from the time we got into his car to his home. 4 hours. I don't know how he wasn't exhausted afterwards. So many emotions - he laughed, he cried, he cracked jokes.

I sat, stood up, nodded my head, asked a couple of questions, smoked a couple of ciggies. 4 hours. I was exhausted afterwards. I thought, this man is both fragile and incredibly strong at the same time. He didn't censor himself. He said what he thought. And quick. Witty. Incredibly articulate for someone who only finished 8th grade. He seemed sensitive and in touch with his emotions. Also very receptive of his audience (i.e. me and H). I thought, he sensed what he thought we wanted to hear.

Whatever he alleges on his blog, whether his ex did indeed steal that money from him, I cannot tell. What I can say is that this was a man so deeply hurt - he burned. Incendiary. And seemed genuinely, righteously angry.

I know people read Brian for various reasons. For those doing so merely to be entertained, I suggest you stop. Brian Gorrell is a real person. The people he talks about in his blog are real. Beyond your flickering computer screen are real lives enmeshed in one huge mess.

I felt incredibly sad when we left. Over sushi, I asked Brian if he feared for his life. He said no. Perhaps fearlessness comes from knowing you have nothing left to lose. I thought, this was a man who learned early on to embrace life with such gusto, prudence probably wasn't in his vocabulary. It showed in his driving. It showed in the range of emotions that marked his face.

Those who say Brian doesn't need the money because he can afford wine or champagne or what, have no clue that a bottle of wine in Australia is the same price as a KFC meal. Pricier wines might cost the same as a box of pizza and a bottle of softdrink. His monthly pension of $1,100 is not much. To give you an idea of living costs, my monthly rent is $580. A month's grocery costs about $300. Those who may have been given an impression that he lived an ostentatious life because of those short video clips (i.e. the one where he gets up from the pool), have no clue that a bus driver in Australia can afford a home with a pool. 'Luxuries' in the Philippines aren't so here.

To Brian, I wish you well. Even though you may have chosen to take on big names back home, I believe you to be a worthy adversary. You have cojones THIS BIG. I'll give you that.

Keep up the fight mate. :)

-------

ETA:

Omg. H's article has come out. Randy Dillera?!?!? Bwahahaha. What a name. Tongue in cheek na tongue in cheek.....

Seduction

At the risk of sounding ingrata, I have always had the sneaking suspicion that the Australian government spending money on me is entirely for self-serving reasons. First, expenses incurred on moi counts as ODA, which relates to security concerns - i.e. you don't want basket cases for neighbours. Second, their investment on human capital undercuts handing ODA to corrupt governments. They put their money directly on me. Third, and this is the insidious part, their scholarship programs have 'harvested' the best and brightest the region has to offer. Some of the PhDs I know will be living here for three-four years. Those who will be staying for a long time have the option of bringing their families along with them. Although our contracts require us to return to our home countries, there is nothing stopping us from coming back here after two years.

Australia is one among six rich countries aggressively competing for highly skilled workers in global labour markets today. In my uni, they have seminars providing information on how graduates can stay as permanent residents. Labour shortages in OECD countries are foreseen to continue and they will be needing more and more workers to augment labour supply as their populations shrink and grow older.

Life is easier here. And although I love my country dearly, probably more than most, I am also a rational human being. I imagine the other scholars who already have their families here may find it difficult to go home in a couple of years. I think of V, who worked for the International Rice Research Institute in LB. I think of our rice shortage. I think of Australia's strong agricultural policies. Australia grows rice. I think of those educational fairs they hold every so often in Manila. You wonder why these countries are so aggressive in promoting higher education in their countries? Well because increasingly they see foreign students as 'test migrants.'

Ah, it is not looking good :(

Brian Gorrell...So Close You Are!!

The Aussie press finally caught wind of Brian's story. I cannot believe he's in Byron Bay....an hour away from me!!! Waaaaa!!!

Challenge is Opportunity and Opportunity is Challenge

Ok. So my former bosses have probably decided on Manila (as opposed to Hong Kong). I see their ads pop all over the Pinoyblogosphere now. Bravo marketing folks for doing your job. On my last day at work E had a little chat with me. Asked me what the BPO scene was like in Manila. I could only tell her what everyone else knows. Yeah, we've got tens of thousands of call centre seats now, so our labour force is "competitive." Whatever that means.

I didn't know whether to feel good or dirty after that interview. On one hand I scored some potential jobs for my fellow Filipinos. I, a Filipina, proved to be a reliable, quick-to-learn English-spokening worker. On the other, I felt dirty. The site is a legitimate dating site. If my ex-bosses wanted an adult site, they could set one up. Probably rake in more money. But nonetheless I have seen some disturbing, horrible things in there. I cringe now, every time I see the photo of the ad. It is obviously targetting foreigners. But if they're advertising on Philippine sites, they must also be after locals or Pinoys overseas.

But no matter. If they do decide to move some back office work to Manila, I'd feel better knowing fellow Filipinos were policing the site. Because I know the Aussie who does it most of the time could care less about protecting Filipinos' integrity and reputation.

ETA:

I am fiercely proud that my blog post is the lone non-adult related search result when you google "philippine pussy." Makunsensya naman ang naghahanap ng porn.

Filipina. Mabuhay ka.

Read also:
Philippines As Open Pussy Country?

Our (Post)modern Revolution and the Tyranny of the Apolitical

How bizarre. Its as if the last century was a dream, and here were are still giving birth to a nation. Stationed here in the land down under, "nationalism" is a bad thing. It manifests in flag-waving and a consolidation of identities - of who and what is Australian, of what belongs to Australia. It manifests in xenophobia and intolerance of difference. I suppose the same can be said for all societies who have fought and won their nationhood. Their 21st century is postmodern. It is concerned with multiplicities - of identities, sexualities and of religions. The postmodern preaches the relativity of truth.

And here we are, Filipinos, still fighting for an identity, of the place for religion, of one version of truth. Have we managed to prescribe the magic formula of what it means to be Filipino? Of what belongs to the Philippines? Where is the nation? Has it a locality? Has it borders? I have read somewhere that statehood is born out of ethnic cleansing internally and nationalist wars externally. More cruel than that is the extinguishing of difference within - the creation of one language to transmit one culture.

By all measures and standards of history, the Philippines is not a nation or a state. Our borders, identities and cultures are fluid. Thus our sense of belonging, of obeisance and of loyalties are just as fluid. Of the material, the way our political unit creates and disburses wealth is placeless in the context of the capitalist world system. The anchors of modern politics elsewhere, of national capital, national labour and national state, are absent. Our politics is disperse, scattered in the four winds, rootless.

This is why I empathise with my friend Luis, who went to the Makati rally last Friday and was reminded of why he is apolitical. I pondered on this matter, and saw that it was a completely rational reaction. In the middle of the action so to speak, it is difficult to glean what is substantive from the spectacle. Our modern revolution is postmodern in this sense. Our modern revolution is being waged in multiplicities - of actors and witnesses, of versions of truths. Our national consciousness in the last twenty years ebbs and wanes in mediated spaces, through texts, old and new media, the web.

So here we are waging a modern revolution framed through postmodern means. It is just as "tainted" with postmodern ethos. Why does it matter that we arrive at the truth when we know that there is none? To be apolitical is to surrender to the inevitable, to be steamrollered by events - by things that happen randomly. What we become are contented/discontented witnesses. There is no sense, no meaning, just time ticking until we belly-up and die. To be apolitical is to give up that our actions matter, because nothing matters. To be apolitical is to surrender to the tyranny of disbelief. Disbelief is totalitarian in that we cannot break of the conceptual cages we create. There is no alternative so why bother? Why expend our energies? Why indeed? We create rationalisations to buttress our version of truth that nothing changes. To be apolitical is to vacate the driver's seat and let the inertia of the moving vehicle take us where it may. It is nihilism at its best.

It is tempting, very tempting to take this stance. But from whence we float on the ocean of relativities and rootlessness, we are brought back to the solidity of the modern. Greed and power are modern. There is none of that here in Australia. It is present on the television screen, but it always takes place elsewhere - in East Timor, in the Gaza Strip, in Kenya. When we are saturated in the politicking of greed and power, it becomes normal, a way of life, part of culture. It solidifies our belief systems that there can be nothing else. From a self-confessed apolitical creature such as Luis, I do not expect much. But hearing the same rationalisations from a Filipina journalist I met here in my uni, I am convinced that the tyranny of disbelief is absolute.

So how do we convince ourselves that politics matters? Well, if politics is arriving at the decision of who gets what, when and how, then it becomes real. Man does not live by imaginary bread alone. We need material things, modern objects, to live. This becomes more urgent in a society that has not yet eliminated hunger. We need to eat, and for that we need to work. For many of us, we need to work hard, to expend our energies to put food on the table. All of this would be fine and dandy if we lived on that deserted island where there is none between us and the sky, lazing the day away catching fish, or toiling for a few minutes in our little patch of green behind our nipa hut. But this would mean finding that uncharted deserted island in the middle of Pacific. Or migrating to the moon.

Unless our country sinks to the bottom of the ocean, or all of us mass-migrate in a postmodern clime elsewhere - where we meet the cold harsh reality of racism and labour inequality and the modern meaning/discipline of passports and citizenships, or we just collectively blow ourselves up, there is no escaping politics. The sooner we realise this, the sooner we can get back on the driver's seat and steer this slow-moving bapor Tabo to a destination where we can afford to be postmodern and apolitical.

When Elections Matter

After the 11 years under John Howard and the Liberal Party, Australia's new government has so far made a complete 180 degree turn on three issues. In December it finally ratified the Kyoto Protocol (now the United States is the only hold out). This February Parliament has officially apologised for past legislations which sanctioned what is tantamount to kidnapping of young aborigines from their parents. This in contrast to the Liberal Party's staunch refusal to apologise for anything. PM Rudd's speech was quite devastating.



And finally, Australia begins troop pull-out from Iraq. What a difference a single election can make.

Homosociality

Slaving away on weekends, the girls and I have little opportunity to speak. The only sounds bouncing off the walls of the office are mouse clicks, keyboard licks, the occasional phone calls and the whir of the airconditioning . The other day, on a rare exchange of casual, even fun talk, the girls articulated something that had been dancing on the outskirts of conscious thought. Yes, Aussie men are hot. Yes (many) Aussie men are sexist. I have said before how men here seem to be caricatures of manhood, and the women their polar opposite.

I have never had an "asexual" conversation with an Australian man. And by this I mean a conversation where I wasn't acutely aware that I was not a man, that I was a woman and all that that implies. I remember the countless conversations I have had over the years with my Filipino guy friends and how I had grown used to exchanges where we were simply human beings. Obviously there are the characteristic sexual dynamics involved when men share time with women, but there in the dynamics are woven egalitarian undertones. Speaking with my Filipino male peers, I have never felt excluded. Speaking with Filipino male elders I have never felt patronised.

Here, in this little patch of Aussie soil, men tend to band together to the exclusion of women. They call it mateship. I call it homosocial.

Dying to Come Here

This news item breaks my heart. Justice was meted out to a couple for enslaving a Filipina in a small town up in Queensland.

The Weipa man who repeatedly raped a Filipina woman he used as a slave has been jailed for eight years.

His wife was jailed for four years for her lesser role in the case.

Zolton John Kovacs, 59, and his Filipina wife Melita, 49, were found guilty after a Supreme Court trial of possessing and using the woman as a slave, and of arranging a sham marriage for her in the Philippines so she could get an Australian visa.

Banality: The Postindustrial Disease

Ranting to Mazzy Star

Week Four

Just letting you all know I'm still alive, but running out of steam I think. I know I'm not here on vacation, but the feeling of not having any purpose is starting to get to me. I want to go home and soon.

It is week four of my third semester. There's still Christmas and New Years a few more months then its all over. I'm not on vacation I know, but some enjoyment wouldn't hurt. But I'm antsy and impatient and useless in Australia. I'm almost done Manila...Konti na lang.

Spot Sparks

Hopefully, some of the Asia Pacific's future leaders.

APEC Sydney

When these heads of state come together during these pow-wows, you wonder if they compare notes on how best to police their borders and 'protect' their people. Australia's new anti-terror law has come under fire lately, and people are seriously questioning whether civil liberties are being sacrificed at the altar of anti-terrorism. Sydney has been in complete lock down this past weekend to make way for the APEC summit. Human rights watchers are critiquing the expanded powers of Sydney police impinging on Sydneysiders' rights and whether they have not been overly 'forceful' in enforcing security.



The latest news on TV show burly police offers, all conspicuously not wearing their name tags, carting away a young woman who has gone over the agreed space of protest. There's also been footage of officers pushing a female journalist so hard she fell on the ground. One thing I noticed though, the police didn't carry batons and those plastic shields. So, its really not as bad as what Manila protesters contend with during rallies.

Here is a short doco on the preparations of anti-war, anti-Bush and all sorts of activists to welcome the APEC Summit leaders.





And here's a clip showing the heads of state in their Aussie costume, the driza bone (dry as a bone) coat they wear in the outback. Watch out for the commentator's hilarious quip about GMA. Hehehehe.

Housemates

It is tricky having to share domestic space with two strangers, trickier when you don't particularly like them. Well, not that I dislike them, just that I've finally accepted the fact we can't be friends. I share nothing in common with either J, a Chinese Malaysian or A, an Aussie from Melbourne. When you are making dinner sharing the kitchen, or have democratically decided on which TV program to watch, it is a strain to make conversation.

In her own fashion, there is much to recommend about J. For a young woman of 22, she is not frivolous or shallow. Not irritatingly girly, not loud. She seems to be incredibly self-sufficient for someone so young, and a hard-worker. As her cultural background dictates, she is never wasteful. Not with the dishwashing liquid, not with the use of electricity, the washing machine, dryer or dishwasher. Given time and maturity, I expect I will probably come to respect her. She was here first when I came in January. There was a bit of a fuss on how controlling she was over the management of the house. So controlling in fact that our first housemate A from Canada, had to move out. But after one heated altercation last April, when all were grouchy and tense over finals and assignment deadlines, we have made our peace.

A is a boy encased in a grown man's body. Some would say he is quite attractive, if not for the receding hairline. Stereotypically macho, all he he seems to like doing is watch footy (rugby or Aussie football...I forget what's what, there's so many variations of the game), play footy in real life or play footy on his Xbox. I wouldn't say he's a dumb jock however, but it is difficult to make conversation when you don't share points of interest. I have been living with him for four months, but his accent is so weird it's embarrassing having to ask him to repeat himself still. So far, he has brought home four girls that I know of. 2 girls he met here, and 2 girls flew in from Melbourne. Nothing scandalous, no overt display of anything...I guess he doesn't want to embarrass either J or me. J herself has had her boyfriend C come stay with us a couple of times already. But anyway, C's a likable fellow and when he is here they probably make sure I'm not in the house whenever they do the horizontal tango as the wall between J's room and mine is quite thin.

I make acquaintances quite easily if I choose to apply myself, but my housemates remind me I don't make friends easily. Maybe because friendship for me means more than doing things together. I was telling my Indonesian friend A the other night, boy or girl, we gotta have chemistry. Which is shorthand for conversation should come easily and I shouldn't have to censor myself on the topics of conversation. There would be genuine exchange of ideas, whether they be about the Chinese in the Spratlys, the meaning of life or Justin Timberlake's delectable hiney.

Pinoy Dies in the Outback

A Filipino OFW recently died under suspicious circumstances somewhere up in the Northern Territory. Three months into his work term, Pedro Balading's remains were found on the road as he was reportedly thrown off a speeding vehicle. His body was flown home in June.

Balading, along with 2 other Filipinos were reportedly targets of racial discrimination, abuse and were made to do tasks in violation of their 457 skilled worker visa. Another Pinoy was also killed last March as he was crushed by 2 slabs of granite in his workplace north of Perth. The Philippine embassy and the Australian government have called for review of said visa. Australia Malcolm Knox writes:

HIS body aching, his hands bristling with splinters, Pedro Balading phoned his wife Maria Magdalena on his 35th birthday and said he wanted to come home to Manila. The university-educated Filipino piggery supervisor had had enough of living a modern-day version of Wake In Fright in the Australian outback.

Instead of performing the skilled work prescribed by their visas, Balading and two Filipino co-workers on a cattle property on the Gulf of Carpentaria had become targets for bullying and discrimination, were underpaid and ordered to do back-breaking unskilled jobs.

The circumstances of his death remain the subject of an official investigation, but witnesses say that Balading's death resulted from the same harassment and exploitation that characterised his brief tenure in the territory.

Ten weeks after his death, his destitute and distraught widow has received no report on what killed Him and scant information on her entitlements, which include unpaid wages and accrued leave, workers' compensation and life insurance.

Territory and federal authorities have maintained a veil of secrecy around the death. Balading's employer has washed his hands of responsibility. When Maria Magdalena was notified of her husband's death two days after it happened, she wept: "Now they will let him come home."

In the Pinoy blogosphere, Geejay, himself a migrant worker here in Australia, writes:

Now, I’m not saying that all working conditions for migrants in Australia are as bad as what was depicted in the two articles. However, I just want to remind you, if you are interested in working here, to be extra vigilant. Don’t be lulled into thinking that working in Australia is without any risks. Do your homework and do not let yourself be abused. I strongly urge you to read the two articles in its entirety to get some ideas of what to watch out for.

From oodles of goodles:

There is just too much pent-up urgency in me to do something right about this. Perhaps, other than suggest that we boycott the agency which sent Balading to his death in a foreign land and send a barrage of furious email or letters to employers Paul and Stuart Zlotkowski, we can divert some of that passion, anger, unity we incited when Malu Fernandez made fun of OFWs and convert it into a microcosm of social relevance.

From sette:

It seems ironic that these days workplace reform, rights of workers and equality in the workplace are hot topics in the political arena and yet there are blatant breaches of overseas worker privileges in our own backyard.

Related news:
Foreign workers "enslaved"
Manila hits out on work visas
Hundreds ride the conveyor belt to fortune
Deaths prompt calls of 457 visa inquiry

Blood Red Moon

The lunar eclipse will be visible from this part of the world tonight.

A COSMIC ballet will bathe much of Australia's east coast in an ethereal red glow as the night sky becomes lit up by crimson moonshine. But forget high-powered telescopes. A dark spot and roof tops will give some of the best views of tonight's Blood Moon eclipse. At exactly 8.37pm (AEST) the Sun, Earth and Moon will be in total alignment, scattering light as it passes through the Earth's atmosphere and bounces off the moon in hues of bronze and red.

You should see it in Manila by 5:52pm. Will try to see if my puny cellphone cam can catch it.

Update: 8.35 pm. The moon is red now. The live webcast is supposed to be here. But I guess everyone's trying to access the page, so goodluck!

Off to Canberra

I'd rather not , but I gotta. Not looking forward to brrrrrr. Be interesting to meet the other 150 scholars from all over Asia Pacific. Back by Saturday.