Bert's Trip to the Philippines, Part 1

Blah, blah, blah, I mean, Blog, blog, blog...

(I intermittently used some Tagalog words, for emphasis, character and color. Also, I just made up all the names to protect the guilty. Mind you, this narrative is for entertainment only, and my facts and figures are not verified. And to satisfy all those people who are always looking for mistakes, I intentionally left some. [Editor's Note: Not if I can help it!] What a gimmick!)

March 15/16, 2007 LAX

My low lights were at the beginning of the trip. As soon as I fell in line at the PAL counter at LAX, one of the passengers in line informed me at once that the flight would be delayed by three hours. Some of them even snickered about the "true" meaning of PAL, Plane Always Late. (I didn't mind it as much, since it was a lot better than the flight the day before where my sister and her family were on board--it didn't take off until the following day.) Anyway, the airline was gracious enough to give us a voucher for $8 to cover dinner that night since the flight would not leave until one o'clock the following morning, a three-hour delay. $8 elsewhere is enough money for dinner on the go, but not at the airport. It will buy you a decent enough dinner, but you have to fork over money for the drinks, which was close to three bucks for a bottle of Diet Coke. What the heck, I was on vacation. What's a few dollars, right?

It must have been a conspiracy--I am not so sure--for all 400+ of us waiting at the terminal for the plane to get ready. The conspiracy I'm talking about is the closeness of the duty free shops next to the waiting lounge. I forked over another $27 dollars for a carton of Marlboro, pasalubong sa mga smokers sa pamilya ko doon. (I found out later, they don't care anymore for Blue Seal cigarettes, local brands will do. Oh well!) In a span of three hours, more and more passengers were buying goodies. I asked the saleslady what time the shop closed and she answered she would stay open as long as there are passengers. Not a bad marketing strategy.

More frustrations.

Anyway, when it was time to board, they had four big buses that transported passengers from the terminal to the airplane which was ten minutes away. The bus ride was so long, it seemed, I thought we were at Burbank by then. Even though they were boarding passengers by seat numbers, that system did not work out the way it was intended to be. Because some of the buses were bigger than the others, it took longer to fill up. The smaller ones that were assigned later got filled first, and took off first. And when the buses arrived, they were almost at the same time, and when the passengers queued up to the hallway leading to the plane, the order was no longer valid. It was at this time I started to make notes, mental and written, of what my experiences would be. Seriously, one of them was--not to fly PAL anymore.

Tips to future PAL passengers or any 747 riders (to make a short story long):

Have your travel agent secure a plane seat for you when he or she books your flight right away. This will get you the best seat in the house--which in this case, is the second section (after the first class) maybe seats from rows 20 to 37.

And as far as seats go, aisle C and H are NOT good when you plan to watch movies, because passengers and flight attendants are always in the aisles, blocking your view of the big screen. Good aisle seats are D and G. Remind you, this only matters when you are in the second section. The plane's seat configurations are different on other sections. Also, the second section is one of the first ones to deplane, after the first class and business class. (I figured out why they charge so much for the seats at first class section: THEY ARRIVE FIRST, after the pilots. Get it?)

In fairness to the employees of Philippine Air Lines, I found all of them to be courteous, kind, professionals, and good-natured. All of the hard feelings I had before boarding were replaced with awe and delight of unimaginable stages as I witnessed how patient they were doing their work over and above what was required, from my point of view. And mind you, it has nothing to do with the attendant assigned to our section who was not only attentive and always with a smile, but also pretty and sexy. I tell you, if I were only single, younger and richer, I would have asked Josephine to marry me.

More next time.

Why we're writing this blog

When I was in the eighth grade, I decided that I wanted to be a writer. I went through high school and college with this career path in mind, not entirely sure of how to start doing it, or what tools I would need. I got my B.A. in English because my parents were paying for it and because I figured that with a general English degree, I could learn about different types of fiction and how to write it.

Around the same time, the Internet started to gain mainstream popularity, to the point of where I was able to convince my parents to get us a computer so I could surf the 'net to keep up with my various geek-related hobbies. We had several fights over my hogging of the phone lines at night, and my dad took to email with a rapidity that astonished me.

I've always known that my dad was a creative guy. He used to paint when I was younger, and I remember one day where I got into his oil paints and accidentally ate half a tube of black. Man, was he pissed. He tried his hand at sculpture, and got two of his pieces into the Brea Art Gallery. The last time I was home for Christmas, he was still working in collages, sculpture, and of course, in words.

See, what I didn't realize until a few years ago is that my dad is an amazing writer. He's always been funny with his college buddies telling jokes; he's just as funny (and possibly a bit corny) in his writing. He started writing long missives to his friends and the rest of our large extended family, and gained a small following.

If there's one thing that my dad and I always clash on, it's the fact that he wants me to become a successful writer. "Why don't you just write a book?" he always asks, and I always tell him that I'm not ready to, I'm not skilled enough, I don't have time... a myriad of excuses that we both know are bullshit. In truth, I'm scared and I don't know how to convey that to him.

At the same time, I know that he's wanted to become a published writer, too. He wrote two songs that he tried to get on the radio, he tried writing a children's book for my niece, he's tried to get into magazines. Living in New York City, I know what an uphill battle he's got ahead of him if he wants to gain credibility.

So last Christmas, I decided to give my dad the gift of publishing. After doing some research into the free blogger systems out there, I decided to get him an account here so that I could upload his stories (edit his grammar a little bit) and the world could see just what a great writer my dad is.

The reason why I'm uploading his stories rather than him doing it himself is that a) we live 3,000 miles apart and I don't trust in my ability to teach him how to use this blog over the phone and b) he wants me to polish up his grammar to acceptable levels of English. I've pretty much left his text alone, except for changing some verb tenses and adding particles of speech where they usually should go. All the phrases in Tagalog I've left intact because I don't know what they mean (and that's a blog entry for a different day).

Every other day or so, I'll either put up a new story or dig one up from his vast archives. I might pop in and contribute an article or two, but only if I think it really relates to what he's talking about.

I hope you enjoy my dad's work.

A set of three important words

I never thought I was capable of saying them. Several years ago, it would have been unheard of. From me, anyway.

"Tama na po!"

I bet you are thinking of what context these three words were used. I bet too that some of you might even been thinking of something naughty. Well, to set the records straight from the beginning, here is the story.

I was in West Covina, one late morning last week to purchase a balikbayan box. West Covina is now one of the hubs of Filipino activities in Southern California, with lots of big supermarkets, restaurants, bakeries, small stores, banks, and other remittances offices. I got hungry after I acquired the box, and Toto's Lechon was just around the corner. Time for an early lunch.

The array of trays of foods are mouth-watering, more so if you are hungry. The grill is right there behind the counter, so you can smell the delicious aroma of burning meat, like barbecued chicken and pork chops. The smoke goes up the vent, but some is left inside the store, to permeate to the unconscious mind the idea of a home-cooked meal.

The two-course combination lunch costs around five dollars. Before I made my selection, the lady scooped two heaping full ladles of rice on my plate, then added some more. Normally, I would have welcomed that generosity. I like rice. No, I love rice!

And that's when I said: "Tama na po." "Isang sandok lang."

Still reverberating in my mind were all the comments and greetings bestowed upon me by friends and relatives I had not seen for quite sometime during my last vacation in March to the Philippines.

"Ang taba mo!" Oh, there's another three words.

When I was growing up, it was a nice thing to say--a compliment really, because it meant you were not starving, or you were eating healthy. Being payat then was synonymous to a lack of healthy food, or just plain food. The rich people were mataba, the poor, payat.

But maybe not so anymore nowadays. Maybe I was just mataba. Period.

Well, probably so. I gained five more pounds while I was on vacation. So, one of the things I promised to do was lose a few pounds when I got back. I remembered when my first daughter got married, I went into a diet mode. Hundreds of pictures were going to be taken, not to mention the video of the ceremonies and reception. By simply eating less, with the same daily activities without joining any exercise facilities, I was able to get down to my desirable weight.

This time is a different story though. It's much harder to lose weight because of my age. My metabolism is down. I don't burn as many calories as before. And maybe, I am not as active as before too.

Anyway, the lady with the ladle gave herself a quiet smile. Or maybe it was a grin. I didn't ask why. I just assumed she had the idea that rice causes my weight problem. Or she was happy that there would be more rice for others. Or maybe she asked herself why I did not offer to cut down on the pork chop and lumpia. What? Sira ba ang ulo niya?

Anyway, in a span of six weeks, I lost ten pounds. I weigh myself everyday, sometimes morning, afternoon and evening. I eat more fruits and vegetables. More fish and chicken. Less rice and bread. I cut down also on soda. Eat the same amount of nuts. Consume the same amount of wine. But basically, I just eat less. No more second servings. No more evening snacks while watching TV. Sometimes, I can not believe my self. I found self-control!

Would it have something to do with my chest pains lately? Or the stories I heard about friends and relatives having strokes or heart attacks? Or the constant reminders from my better half? Or maybe both.

Today, while waiting for the doctor in the private waiting room for my three-month follow up- checkup, I noticed a poster on the wall. It gave the ideal weight for a person's height. Something that has to do with body fat ratio. Mine, at five feet seven inches, I should be 153 pounds at the heaviest. Wow, is that right? I have another thirteen pounds to go?

I had the urge to rip that poster off the wall right then and there. And when I calmed down and mellowed out, I thought of another way to combat this angry feeling. I took out my pen and wrote on one corner of the poster the initials ATM. And this I hope will be my rallying cry to succeed.

Wish me luck with my new ATM motto: "Ang Taba Mo."