Hommage

A conversation with a friend the other day has got me thinking - there are so many things that you learn implicitly in training to be an academic. Nobody tells you what you need to learn - I wish they did so everything is spelled out clearly. You are being disciplined without you even understanding the logic behind it. One that nobody really tells you about is how 'academia' means your peers. (Now the fact that you think of yourself as a peer to people you have only read is a separate lesson, but that is to be thought about for another day). Anyway, nobody tells you that academia is a network - a network of other scholars all around the globe - at least not when you're someone coming in from the fringe like me. I suppose this is taken for granted by people in my faculty because nearly all of them are trained in the 'core' - meaning the US and Europe. They saw, touched, spoke with these people whereas I have only ever had to read them. And nobody lets you forget this geographic distribution of knowledge producers. I remember this from day 1 when someone from Princeton so proudly said he was from Princeton - the implication being that I am doing my PhD in the very ambitious semi-periphery that is NUS. Oh gosh - not to forget my roots in the periphery. (Nevermind that AusAid paid for my education in Australia. Had I known that brand matters, I would have paid the $55AUD application fee to get 'branded' by ANU). Now why is it that people are so conscious of this geographic distribution? And why is it they will consistently remind you of it? I am not the only person who is asking this question of course, as is evident here. It's nice that they are having this conversation. I don't know why I am not compelled to participate in it. Probably because despite disavowals of elitism and responding to democratic impulses, privilege by definition is at best taken for granted and is, at worst, not something anyone willingly gives up.

Professionalism

Everyone talks about how every graduate student has to behave 'professionaly.' Unfortunately professionalism is the last thing you will observe in some scholars sometimes. I try to imagine some of these behaviours in a corporate setting and undoubtedly they would have been seen as not only unprofessional but downright rude and callous. If you want a harmonious environment where people are able to work with as little stress as possible you will want to ensure that people have a modicum of social skills. Let's say social skills are the last thing you will learn in academia. My discipline, especially, is notorious for this. It's a bit like a fraternity where you're hazed into belonging and making oaths of loyalty. Your work itself is secondary.

Wishy washy

I'm not used to him being indecisive, so when he is my reaction can be whatever is the opposite of generous. Last night he had casually brought up the idea of me joining him and his friend at CQ. I suppose I reacted sanely to the spontaneous idea - it was late and I was exhausted due to a long day, lack of sleep and a run on the treadmill. In the end I went, after we had a heated discussion (as they always turn out to be). I had capitulated after complaining that he wasn't giving me clear directions, to which he replied if I wasn't sure about directions I should follow my heart. How could I have refused him then? I was at CQ at half past midnight when I supposedly, accidentally bumped into him and his friend. There was less of a story-telling than I expected because his friend seems like a nice, simple guy who has not the cunning to see beyond the surface and the music was too loud to have a normal conversation.

I wondered then as I wonder now why it was that he asked me to join them. This was not the first time he brought up the idea. Before he had wanted me to come over to his place to watch Sunday's cricket match. Originally the idea was that I was supposed to be a friend from work who wants to learn about cricket and we were not to act like we were lovers. But last night we very much acted the part - to the point where I went home with him and his friend. He denies it, or is probably acting subconsciously - but he wanted to test the waters, to see how at least one person in his life would react to him being with another woman. I don't know this guy, but anyone with an ounce of observational powers would know that D and I are not casual acquaintances who just somehow hooked up by accident. It was the way he back against me when we were outside 711, inviting me to kiss his neck. It was how he laid his head on my lap when we finally got back to his place and sat chatting with his friend in the living room before turning in. I would imagine that this is something familiar lovers do, not casual acquaintances - hook-up or not.

Little girl wants her lolly

*Phone rings. He doesn't usually call so early*

Me: Hello?
Him: Hey, what are you doing?
Me: Nothing
Him: Where are you?
Me: Home, working
Him: Ok, good
Me: Why are you calling?
Him: Nothing, I don't want you throwing another tantrum, accusing me of ignoring you
Me: *laughs* So you're punching in your time card huh? Reporting...
Him: Yeah
Me: Well I appreciate the effort
Him: Right. I will hear the same thing from you in two days.


(Context: I threw a mini tantrum last night about not having seen him for five days and accusing him of ignoring me - when he plainly has not...)

Passion, Reason

A common complaint from all the men I have loved assumes that passion cannot coexist with reason. Or where one manifests itself the other cannot. Where an issue, an argument, a point of discussion between lovers concerns affairs of the heart, I hear 'But you are so smart!' or 'Can't you be logical about this?' or 'Why are you being like this? You're doing a goddamn PhD'. As if doing a goddamn PhD automatically exempts me from exhibiting sorrow or pain, to use emotions to understand a situation, or to trust my intuition when making a decision. This irritates me to no end because these complaints I have heard create a false dichotomy, perpetuate rather ridiculous gendered stereotypes and privilege a 'thin' (rather than complex) way of being in the world.

Someone New

I've started seeing someone new. Someone who matters. I made a wish and *poof* there he came the day after. The universe will give you what you want when you need it I suppose. When it is something promising you can't help but oscillate between hope and fear. It has been nearly three weeks thus far. This oscillation has not gone away.

I watched him bathe this morning. For ten or so minutes I stood by the bathroom door and looked at him as he scrubbed and soaped himself. A tall, fine, brown specimen of a man with a fine pair of butt cheeks. Ha. He has done everything right, thus far. He has passed all my tests with flying colours. A patient man. A driven man. A man in every sense of the word. Perhaps too driven. Still in grief, I suppose. It is too soon since his wife passed away. He will see a therapist today, as ordered by his corporate overlords. He is in the clinic now as I write. I asked him last night if he would tell the doctor about me. I told him he should. He seemed ambivalent. He was distracted this morning. I asked him if he was anxious about going. He said no. I doubt it. This man who probably thinks of himself as invulnerable - a leader, a master, a knight in shining armour - will not want to reflect too deeply where he aches and pains.

He adored his wife. Eight years. Ten including when they were not yet married. That is a lifetime. His better half, torn from him so suddenly. I cannot imagine. Incredibly I do not feel jealousy. She is gone after all. And I know of course I can never replace the void she left. The overwhelming feeling I have right now is being grateful. I am grateful I met such a person. Perhaps he can restore my faith in men. Perhaps.

Hello again old friend

Hello abandoned blog. It's been a while. I feel a need to ask for forgiveness, for having forsaken you, for having forsaken my internal dialogues. I have not been writing. I am all out it seems. I refuse to think anymore, having thought and thought and thought so hard these past few months. I am all out, you see. Perhaps, if I were to continue the internal dialogue in my head, the writing will come back again. The keyboard clicks feel comforting, as I sit here in this semi-dark room. Tack, tack, tack, they go. Let me see if I can do this again.

Alat

Six weeks have come and gone and I have not produced anything. I wonder at my reticence. Did the initial push burn me out so quickly? Or maybe I have turned so cowardly? Must find fortitude. Be brave Sparky. Break new ground. Touch your fucking data. Do something with it for god's sake.

Ending

To make government transparent

Interesting set of events today, which got me to think about 'transparency.' If the problem is that there are thieves operating in shadows who betray the core tenets of our social contract, then the solution is to remove objects which cast said shadows. To make transparent means to see everything, to the extent that this is possible. To make transparent means to install mechanisms of surveillance with which to see. To render something completely visible means to install said mechanisms at all angles, from all vantage points. This means a continuous and sustained act of looking. Are we ready for that which we wish to usher?

The palace mouthpieces keep urging us to 'be vigilant', to be on constant look-out. They urge us to do our duty and work to keep them in check. Now that everyone is angry enough that they are raring to plunge into the public sphere, that space of appearances to see and be seen, the palace is pulling the reins. Is this too much vigilance?

A Friendly Reminder

The longer we hold on to the ring, the more difficult it is to let it go.

Political Obstacles to Decentralization: Evidence from Argentina and the Philippines by Kent Eaton:

Because of weak parties and individualistic behaviour by legislators, presidents of the Philippines have had a very difficult time getting their policy agendas through the legislature. Traditionally, presidents have depended on their formal authority over the release of pork barrel funds as a power resource that allows them to purchase the support of legislators for substantive policy change. As a governing tool, the effectiveness of the president's control over the release of these funds would be seriously undercut by the broad devolution of revenues and expenditures. Local governments would become much less dependent on pork barrel funds, decreasing their political leverage and utility to the president.

Given this political reality, support by President Aquino for decentralization and its passage by Congress in 1991 is politically intriguing. The key to explaining the political logic of the 1991 decentralization is the role played by different electoral incentives, beginning with the lack of electoral incentives facing President Aquino.

A non-traditional politician and political widow who was uninterested in remaining in power beyond her six-year term, Aquino was committed to the `no re-election' clause of the 1986 constitution, which was written by individuals she appointed and which included several measures that were designed to avoid repetitions of Marcos' successful attempts to perpetuate himself in power. Aquino was therefore unlike most presidents in that she was not personally threatened by the loss of power to the national government that the Code would effect. Furthermore, she considered decentralization to be the linchpin of her administration and a reform that would facilitate the transition to democracy, the main legacy of her government.

Civility

A man gave up his seat for me in the sardine-packed MRT today. By the looks of his scuffed shoes and badly patched-up trousers, a day worker. Bodies were jostling to and fro as the train went from station to station. On the third stop from the one where I boarded, the day worker stood up and said 'ma'am.' He looked at the man seated next to him and whispered 'nakakahiya.' The other man also stood up and gave up his seat to the nearest woman. I wonder what prompted the act of seat-giving. was I looking schoolmarm-ey today with my hair in a bun? Did my look evoke childhood memories of his teacher from the barrio - good, warm memories which prompted a show of generosity/gallantry? If so why did he say 'nakakahiya?' Was he ashamed of the fact that a woman stands while he - an able-bodied man is seated? If not gendered sensibilities, was it a matter of class? My schoolmarm bun to his blue collar?

Caffeine

There is the heavy drone of the AC labouring to keep the heat out. The sounds bounce off of the cement walls and glass windows in a way that oddly enough complements the humming bass of the AC. To me it is more than ambient noise that must be tolerated when one pays homage to our churches of consumption. I wonder what these sounds mean to others? What is it about noise that we value so much? My mom belongs to that generation (and class?) of Filipinos who seem to associate noise with gaiety, and with gaiety - well-being. Silence or lack of noise makes my mom uncomfortable. Noise means happiness.

----

We take for granted the structures which hold the shell of our bodies, and within them our diwa, our malay. Being away from home allows me to see anew these same everyday structures/strictures.I see class everywhere. Even more so in these conspicuous spaces of consumption. It is most apparent in the manner of speech. Today I went into two coffee shops. This morning it was Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. This afternoon it is Caffe Bene. Both times the ladies behind the counter who took my order addressed me in English even when I spoke to them in Filipino. Now I wonder if this is standard policy. Will the speaking of Filipino somehow break the fantasy of luxe which they carefully conjure the moment I step through their doors? Will it somehow remind me that the space out there - public space - is not like the privileged private space in here, the price of which is probably included in my
coffee cup? Class. I see it in Singapore of course. But right here, right now in Manila I am reminded that we need not be of different skin colour or nationality for there to be deep inequality.

Pledge

I am going to stop procrastinating about not writing and just write. Whatever drivel comes will come. At least there is something to work on, something to cultivate, something to shape and mould into a semblance of something. I pledge to become a diarist once more. To write and chronicle, to put ideas to paper. So I start tonight.

I wonder if there is something about getting older that tempers the urge to purge on paper? Is it because life has become less urgent? Life is no longer a series of novelties and excitement? Is it because body and soul have learned not to keep looking forward to what lies beyond the curvature of time, and to savour the present, to count the precious seconds of now? I don't know. Perhaps it is that. It could have also been a mini burn-out. This past year was tough on my brain. If it were a muscle mine would have been fit enough to join a decathlon. I felt no urge to write the mundane. And no urge to write the not-academic substantial. So there was no middle ground. Perhaps I had learned to associate putting fingers to keyboard with hardship and chore. Writing was no longer a refuge, a pleasure, an unburdening. Writing was work. Thinking was work. Well, I have some precious weeks to not write/think as work. I am taking back this practice from the deep, dark corner of dissertating and bringing it out to the love and light of keyboard licks and clicks, of putting words to the voice in my head.

Displaced

These always looked better on you. A moment of quiet since I got back in Manila. A moment to miss you. The city is never asleep. It is loud, kinetic, frenzied. Christmas season it is. I wish you were here.