Christmas in the Imagination of an Imaginable Being
Iris P. Concepcion

Let me start this piece, this rather fairy tale piece, with a sincere greeting of Merry Christmas to those who matter and awfully know they matter, a lot, to the writer of this piece.

I shall be long and NOT brief, for this is all what I have in mind that could not be taken away---hoots be damned.

I watched “Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Olivares”.

I thoroughly, and exceptionally, adored the film.

I’ve always known that something from the foliage or forests or wherever field of dreams creative people design the things they craftily do, could not hide for so long with geckos and ferns and had to come out soon---vengefully inventive-- in this side of the Pacific Ocean. Just reading from the credits that my better Keith Richards musically scored this film (Yes, Pepe Smith, he of ‘Today Rock and Roll, tomorrow, the Presidency!’ quip is one of my most favorite aliens even if I read somewhere that he muddles his lyrics often----he is breathing! for oxygen’s sake, and craggy as it may sound, that ought to give hope to everyone who wants to throw a flying fist to everything, and I mean everything, that constricts the free spirit), which evolved so, so smartly with Yoyoy Villame’s scratchy rendition of a song about our country, hummed splendidly with sad, opening visuals-----I immediately wanted to hug the director. Pronto. I know this had been done again and again and again but I know for a fact that it requires a valiant heart to display to the world, in your chosen medium of passion, the beauty of your views despite their boundaries, limits and excesses. After some lull, someone got OUT and happily for the displaced of inspirations-this film is sending a message that isolation from what is normally accepted is never an encumbrance to be OUT.

Why am I capitalizing that three-lettered word? Because, my friends, I just freakingly want to.

Need I really examine the picture? Famous writers have already done wonderfully so and the adjectives connected to the film are precise. One thing I will direct your attention to, nevertheless, are the tiny details that were radiantly worthwhile to me as the dignified sobs of the actor playing Maximo : The Beatles poster fighting for a wall space filled with religious remembrances and the perfect, perfect guitar rendition of what sounded like Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” nestled in the film’s climactic eddy---the anticipated ascent to a moral resolution. (Was that Mike Villegas’ strums? Soulful.) This film is a confluence of a great ensemble of talented people. Bond that way and claim the creative soil from where the backbone of our society is made manifest without the kind of diluted pronouncements we often hear and see.

Next stop. Since some of my favorite people are like entrants to Mardi Gras with their spectacular costumes and genderless role-playing, I would likewise mask them in this tribute which is already stripped of my colorful imagination due to a desperate need to relay my gratitude.

The transistor friends. To the beloved little guy, the dependable creator of spectacles, and his coterie of happy elves and giants and tongue-twisting fairies who crash all the restrictions of prudeship (one of my inexistent words to mean, well, prudish)-to rattle, amuse and fish for that smile: by the glory of Charlie Chaplin, you are all appealing. The faces, I may sometimes misconstrue as belonging to the realm of ordinary people but at least, you would not theatrically cover for anyone in hoodwinking a citizenry so used to cover-ups. Did you know they did not fatten their bank accounts incognito but did the act to make some irksome, impossibly unsmiling girl in sack, happy? My favorite people, in their arena, spread their craft and goodwill without prior announcements. Their egos are firmly checked. The encounters of the first, second, third, fourth and hopefully gazillion kind, wherever they may be and in whatever capacities they may have been stumbled upon and heard, had severely expanded my level of comprehension about the friendliness of human beings. Happiness is not a warm gun (I may have to issue my title dissent there with my other hero, John Lennon) but a warm disposition. And pillow. (that’s for the most giving creature I have known in my entire life).

You see, not everyday can you be given musical phenomena, printed mastery of words and doodles of faultless creative faculties without even having to open your rooftops.

The musicians : It is by a bolt of blitzkrieg I think that I was slumbering and the greatest sounding live rock and roll band in these islands, the lead singer at least, somehow, magically, became Freddie Mercury who was crooning five centimeters (somewhat) away from the wooden fence. Yet, who could possibly, in a fanatic sort of way, fail to spot that timbre of a voice which once replied in a bookstore to a companion, when asked who Jack Kerouac was?: “A poet,” this singer retorted . If you have heard this musician sing Radio Gaga and shreds of Bohemian Rhapsody, you would say, Freddie Mercury was resurrected for the best part. Even with an aid of a karaoke box, that voice can always be deciphered. Unlike the other tapes we are used to these days, this man, like his music---roared honestly. I do not know how this became possible. But all along the watchtower (to be Dylanesque about it, he wailed like a meteor passing through the dark skies), a voice could make one a magnificent company. I may, perhaps be fooled into thinking it was him, but for the promise of a voice, that was outstanding.

Next is my favorite brown Beatle whom my ears tracked down long way before I hit the road of immobility. Everyone who knows me knows my fascination for his former band. There was a time when I had the commanding urge to pelt rocks (not pebbles but pointed rocks with salt) at anyone who would berate this band’s music. Their smug sense of humor is what sets them apart. And they twist words and names like I often do. Impossible as it may sound, this singer transformed into a sweet performer with guitar riffs chopped like dancing fireflies which burst, free of charge, from sandpiles (I don’t know what the heck this allegory stands for and why fireflies should emerge from sandpiles but I like its incongruity) with a tutti-frutti---vocally powerful---band! I am not making sense if I have not been followed so far but to these artists (I still love the technical classiness of the juicy group even if it became huge and I should already be yawning by their popularity but I am not). What a SPIKE! to the harmony spine. I was reverted into a mumbling musical fanatic as I regaled the inspiring supernatural appearance which was then received by the people I regaled them to with Awwwwwwwww. Of course, I had to explain to them the mechanics of costumes which was extremely difficult under the economy of my own stress. Will they think I am totally nuts? I was so privately arrogant that I began asking : Did the audience notice the opening riffs? It was transported from a Mongolian song or something (I love this wordgame so much) and I wanted to knock down and jiggle everyone with : ”Did you hear that? Are you familiar with those opening chords? Did you know this musician’s melodies were played by the Philippine Harmonic Orchestra?” I badly needed to gloat but was held down by my own mortality of weakness. What if all these people knew too, like me, but had been reserved and prettily coiffed through it all? So, I was pleased as usual in a very privileged but quivering way of my having noticed the supposedly unnoticeable. I am so blessed, God the Father of Heaven that I capped off my privately boasting, musical discovery with a genuine, elastic smile.

You know what the brown McCartney did? He moved like his limbs were loosely calibrated with oil---it was a specter act. He danced like an excruciating Jack Black. I silently asked myself who injected what to this guy that he became so stagefully amiable. He sounded and performed like a Gallagher brother coming out from an anger management counseling and was thus totally reformed. That good vibe: where on friendly earth did that come from? The following sentences need to be addressed personally: Thank you so much. And hey, Jude, you are immeasurably gifted. Your sixth sense organ is not your guitar straps but your splice-of-life music. Don’t you develop goosebumps when everyone covers your songs? Can you perform “Alone Again, Naturally” with half of the song done in guitar solo? You signed a poster of a friend once with “P, High!” And it became a deathless conversational piece if the co-headed entities (us) wish to speak like rock stars.

Then, there’s this pizza guy who, I must thank for having willfully, sanefully, without any aid of additives, allowed his vocal chord to be imported, right smackly, into the heart of the land where animals still scuffs food in open lands leisurely. The enigma of the pizza man’s arrival. Not punk rock but ingenious rock. Why did he travel that far? Why was he so polishedly dressed up? Why can’t someone tell me, even those who are knowledgeable of the bandmembers, who he was? If that was not him----can someone explain why his patented mic handling got so evenly volunteered? I remember this musician cum pilosopong teetwo singing the songs of the band essayed in the preceding paragraph way back. He boasted that he knows all the lyrics to the latter’s songs. He is a fan just like me so that creates an unwritten code of unmitigated chuckles between us even if I am but a stranger to him. But, what made him travel so far? Kill me if that was for me, but you are one heck of a pizza delivery boy. The wonders of a beerland.

To all the Filipino musicians, sessionists or otherwise whom I have heard in my solitary reconnection with the world : You have always bolstered my premise that without the melody of this island, 90% of its soul is scraped off. I have always placed my faith in these artists who take their crafts seriously. They never flee when they are asked to sing and they do so, with valuable integrity.

Also, I do not know who this singer was but I must single him out because he rocked and summoned the smoky effects on stage in one of my gig outings with the loud and vibrating vocal authority of “Usok!!” Lo and behold, the stage was abruptly covered with foggy air and only his long, attitude-laden hair stood out from that artificial concealment. And he said things like “Dat song was from Dif Lifard”. Man, if that was not groovy, I don’t know what to call it.

One of the invented characters of O. Henry named Azalea Adair spoke with a wistful spur : “I have traveled many times around the world in a golden airship wafted on two wings---print and dreams.” Had Azalea included music there, she would have realized that the airship kindly heals and fixes crushed dreams. That is music’s elemental nature.

The artists in general. The wordsmiths, of the column types and reviews, I particularly relish the sight of sentences and paragraphs which are lyrically adept while extremely forthright on issues of debates. Now that I have a time full of mind wanderings, I can take more of their words in a relaxed manner with ample time to laugh on the side. I think I saw some of them loitering in ladies’ sections which is pretty much a Kubrick way of getting detected.

The last group, the doodlers, unfortunately is the most remote from my accessibility, personally. I just see the drawings and compact one-punch liners. I hope their works are transferred, if not in documentaries, then on film (like some artwork on credits). I always interlink, far-flung as they are, people who should be pooling their artistic resources together. Like a choreography of assorted talents, all imaginative endeavors blend well in the end.

I write with delight about people I hear, musicians and writers, since their impact to me is more graspable. It does not mean, however, that I am no less unaware of what the rest of this kindred habitat is doing to give me more leverage in thinking, feeling and creating. It is with an act of faith that I turn to you in reverse during times of hesitations. Especially during slips of anxiety.

Thank you very much. And with much respect to the unselfish forwarding of the craft.

I am so darn lucky people I barely know from Adam can make me feel this way. You know why? This is what makes a script pale in comparison. I love everything about it.

LIFE OF EASE
Iris P. Concepcion

Somewhere in the course of conversation with one of my friends, this question cropped up: “What’s in it for me?” referring pragmatically to the gain one may have in undertaking responsibilities that are intrinsically non-friendly to financial benefits. Returns that could shore up a fair standard of living.

People who track my words down, I have something to tell you based on a simplistic premise which is generated by that equally unfussy query.

In a world of conflicts and differences, the tendency is to align yourself with that mast of comfort and sanguinity. There is too much pressure to become a monolithic adherent of social, economic, political and material realities that somehow pre-program existence to desperately want that side of expected lenience, especially on the subject of relief and security. Indulgence usually favorable to “living of ease.”

This creates a pertinent benchmark for most of the decisions affecting anyone in responding to calls of any human action. We respond easily to that which does not make us ill, deprived or affected. Hence, it is very trying to redirect that course of ease to a path which inflicts altruism that shatters, instead of coagulating selfhood. Humans are entities of wanted comfort. There is an exacting difficulty in veering away from that self which behaves superbly in easeful and uncomplicated surroundings.

The following question is therefore appropriate when viewed in this light:: “Is it niggling to exact from people a level of awareness to do what is good, under any circumstance, requiring their moral accountability?”

I told my friend who asked the query above that I often wonder why the efficiency in honing goodness could not be spurred by the kind of speed, timeliness and zealous dedication by which its opposite (badness) can capably carry out. A corrupt or criminal mind will find it necessary to impeccably lay out a disruptive plan with quick resolve, covering all its loopholes should it go awry. There is a focus that knows no vacillation. Unflinching. Decided in haste.

On the reverse, a man who has discovered service to fellow man based on equality, fairness and justice almost always could not be pressed to that direction with the same urgency, efficacy, wholeheartedness and commitment. Generally, an action of continued goodness is preceded by an ethos of meditation, seclusion and withdrawal. It involves a life-changing choice that requires protracted hours of thinking and a careful regurgitation of amassed experiences. It is usually associated with the face of grief ; of martyrdom. Mahatma Gandhi, Benigno Aquino, Mother Teresa should have been replicated with the same frequency as they do the scandal-ridden personalities of the world but the equation has alarmingly magnified the latter while dwarfing the descendants of the former. There is a wicked assault to moral actions but that should never be a diminution to the proliferation of uprightness.

I have yet to find greediness in mankind, the kind of manic quality fundamental in depraved individuals to perpetuate only, and only, righteous acts.

The difference lies on the reaping of rewards. A man of disruption receives paybacks with the same alacrity by which he performs his devious plans. The desired effect is instant. A rope to enmesh himself with that person who is a creature of comfort. He is cocksure that he will prevail. On the other hand, a person who has dedicated himself to noble causes finds himself normally unsure of the outcome, particularly on the aspect of assured delivery. Will his deeds yield the same zestful results? No wonder a life of worthy cause often finds itself synonymous with life in isolation.

More often than not, the hesitancy to acquire voracity in spreading goodness crash into those with bare essentials to lead lives of dignified commitment. People who are hard pressed to eke out a living. The absence of accessible support systems that could still make living a decent fact, despite the lack of immediate compensation that answers the basic needs of that man in noble pursuit i.e. : “How am I supposed to eat?” or “I need money for the family.” A man usually trapped in this dilemma especially holds dear a meticulously arranged plan never to give in to the rapid but spoiled processes of earning to sustain life. Sadly, he often finds himself misplaced within that principled life.

I therefore ask: Why can’t there be a mafia-like exclusivity in carrying out good deeds? No one has ever thought of organizing it with the possessed resoluteness of a crime syndicate. One that requires an honorable oath to uphold principled beliefs and actually live the oath without materially undermining the needs of daily existence.

I assume that people of means (the moneyed), when faced with an excruciating desire to make a change in the world, have already one stumbling block removed from them. They can easily pick and identify organizations that require their assistance. They are aided by their luxury of mobility, given their advantage in terms of logistics back-up. I am envious of their ready translations to match their upright desires.

Also, people called upon to public service actually hold inviolable positions to effectuate changes that can stimulate powerful waves to generate more goodness. That power underlies the advantage of being in structured systems which are equipped with the right channels to institute social changes. I am envious of their accessibility to the demographics of the needy so that the proper identification of these needs are easily responded to. How vast a knowledge can be derived from their positions to allow the flow of goodness currents to be nothing but conscientious!

Yet, no philanthropist (described as a goodhearted person) ever arose from among the dwellers of shanties.

Can’t a person of basic means then be called a philanthropist too, if it essentially means being goodhearted, an upholder of what is right and being able to help?

Yes, absolutely yes. To borrow the question : “What’s in it for me?” Briefly: To make the world less harsh; to prove that this world is still willing to absorb clarity in compassion even if it does not guarantee financial opulence; that it will never be bored nor glum with an act of righteousness.

This personal discovery of mine began when I realized after more than a year of self-imposed abandonment of my previous lifestyle which was lived in relative sustenance. This, I also realized: A routine makes one insulated and selfish for self-propagation. It is not a cheerful realization to swallow.

How scant I know of human nature; how little I know of roads to human hearts; how beneficial it is to have a skill/gift/or talent to give back to the world even that which is non-monetary in nature. These are the basic questions that must be delved into before any statistical data in identifying areas that necessitate assistance---the final repository of goodness---can ever be understood. Yes, even before they can begin growing roots with assured calculation of the unfolding leaves that will open out for more spring seasons of rectitude.

I said this often times, to myself and to people I know : Give back to the world the craft you are blessed with should you desire to positively change it even without the material accouterments. We have moneyed philanthropists surely. Yet, those who are not financially sturdy will find difficulty in following their manner of advancing noble causes .

I, however, am a believer of non-monetary contributions as equally advantageous. One of the great things of lending one’s ideas, skills and talents to causes is its malleability to adapt to any harassed and destitute environment. It can be fine-tuned to the specific details which that idea/skill/talent aim to address. It may not be a direct determinant of the positive outcome vis-à-vis money that alleviates with impact any needy situation, but it is there to propel money to rightfully go where the fed mouth, the battered humanity is actually badly situated. It does not end in the feeding part or the empowerment of a being. It is there for the long haul. That is its potency.

Lately, I read with so much interest and inspiration Jeffrey Sachs’ book “The End of Poverty-Economic Possibilities of our Times” as something concrete on how mental responses to social ills can convert into doable, effective and working concepts. No prescription is clever enough that could not be applied in practical terms if the heart, strong will, and creativity are present. This book is sensibly articulate enough to convey what some may regard as pure rhetoric as feasible. Yet, in every pursuit of Mr. Sachs to use his talent in correcting social gaps in the world---he never undertook it with indifferent mightiness. One of the most valuable and inspirational feats he did is to smartly fuse the importance of non-detachment when you prescribe a pill to an ill situation and the smarts to know why it is important. In his mind, ideas need to be de-abstracted to work. He did not have money in the magnitude of billionaires to cure the world’s ills but he peddled his ideas, even annoyingly as he himself admitted, to those who have and never let-up.

Briefly, he incorporated his good intentions with the fierce determination of a maniac, the genius of a scientist and the agility of a sportsperson. He never attacked the problems as half-baked. He did so with actual data and factual analyses. He is never afraid to change his recommendations if they prove unfit to a situation. His chapter on clinical economics would be a divine intervention to policy makers. His macro ideas, to the hands of local planners, can be transformed into micro-ideas that will best suit the demographics of a particular locality.

Many would argue that most of Mr. Sachs’ concepts may resemble the already existent economic thoughts of the past. But as to their applicability? Anyone would be in a good ride with Sachs’ personal prescriptions. In all aspects of implementation---from the intellectual coziness of his academe world down to his travels to the remotest village in Africa-he followed through his ideas if they had, indeed, worked. Give me another name of somebody so sharp who has that resilience to monitor, hands-on, his own prescriptions and I will be very, very glad. Above all, he placed paramount importance to ethical economics. The book is replete with items that demand accountability and transparency even while embarking on noble causes. He is often blunt to explicate its significance.

I do not know the movements of numbers pertaining to economic growths but I never thought numbers could be inspiring integers to forward an act of good deed!

I vehemently urge anyone with a passion to know basic economics (which could be an engine for one to transform a good intention into something practical) but lacks tools to full comprehension, to read his discourse on clinical economics. Chapters Four and Seventeen are instant guidelines concerning the bridging of those who have and have nots. These are must reads and they beg to be mused as starting points for people involved in development projects.

Most importantly, Sachs never got stuck on any premise. He will tap resources to transform them into serviceable concepts and fantastically, align them with his own to help. The singer Bono wrote the Foreword to this book. It is as hip as the rock star’s boots. You will know what I mean when you read the singer trumpet the pages of Sachs’ book.

Which now leaves me with one question. Not all of us are born economists like Sachs. How, in other crafts, can ideas, talents, skills be rendered with said global inclusions, in our ability to hone goodness?

I have my own way of seeing things i.e. :

There is dignity in rendering music to amplify an idea. This may not easily convert into abrupt awakening of noble pursuits but the medium is there to propagate it. Not through hard currencies but through melodies. This is an idealist way of hearing things but let me push my personal meditation on this one.

I have watched the singer Bamboo twice in my forays to self-inflicted silence and I could not help but marvel at a musician’s power to explicate the innermost desire of a person in effectuating transformation, even starting at one’s self. I think Bamboo is a commanding alternative to a preacher as he raps his words like weightless balloons piped through the bluesy strings of his guitarist. In one of his songs, “Pinoy Ako”, he gives pride a subconscious meaning. In a way, he has found that vocal chord agility to deliver something influential as to how an audience must hear things for the better. In his lyric and graceful slither on stage, one can’t help but detect a musician who has grown with full awareness of his responsibility to the world he is rendering his songs to. He is attached to a craft that could not remain exclusive in the realm of art. He is no longer the smug, long-haired lead singer of the past. Somehow, one can spot his willingness to use his craft with nobler agendas. All toward the ramifications of being responsive, even in our everyday dealings with people.

That, readers, is playing forward goodness through the craft you passionately love. Like Sachs, Bamboo used the avenue of his talent at its full potential and spread it like an eager merchant.

If you have the gift to write, by all means, share it with glee. Should anyone approach you to draft a truth manifesto as guide to transparency in any form of service, do so with a heart like you would get a fattening bonus to it. It never breaks a bone to volunteer your words. Should a child ask you why the rainbow is color-specked in combinations, bring to the fore an explanation that can inspire the child to explore more. There is never any severity to link natural phenomenon with say, the multi-raciality of the world and how in disparate thoughts, they can still exist together.

If you are an actor and had known of someone who had been harassed, use your star power to educate that this world has no room for harassments. The vast resource of support that any performer has is an envied lot of any leader. I can only think of the ripples that this could generate for the better. An entertainer can create his own social responsibility which need not be colossal. Significantly, I am very much aware of the steps taken to create inspiration not as a flimsy excuse to profitable engagements but out of sincerity to help. The craft works in whichever context you may want to utilize it. It is a thankful deed.

The writer Vladimir Nabokov said that art is never a social tool but breathes only for art. Yet, isn’t it wonderful to add a dimension to this exceptionality? Isn’t it superb to glorify the breeding of more selfless people instead of the wrongfully hyped ones? Isn’t it personally gratifying, more than anything else, to have conveyed the good message without shedding your skin of creativity?

As to the rest, I have known professionals, employees, vendors who are never selfish to render their selves to commitment. If only their dedication and grit can be multiplied instead of hushed for whatever reason, we need not ask the question of “what’s in it for me” anymore. Why? Because that is how things ought to be.

Think of investing in goodness armed with a thug’s purposefulness and we might find ourselves winning any fight to uphold what is right, just and fair. Done not through anger and reprisal but through the power of craft.