HOW FASHION AND MAGAZINE PRINTING HAD SURVIVED IN YALA, THAILAND
By: Iris P. Concepcion
Exactly four days ago from scribbling down this aberrant note with an oblique title, I had craved for Twinkie Pops, the little quartered ice-cream fried in piping oil outside an internet-fax machine shop. It only costs a surprising 15 baht. My clinking spare coins can certainly afford this rare tummy indulgence, tipped to me by a woman who had learned not only English but teaching, inclusive economics, traffic management, aerophone and water resource from me.
She had been an engaging learner as I am to her. She had made me accept the importance of immunization vaccinations and health care. All throughout our interaction, we had used the proper usage of grammar and proper tenses. We had laughed at the paragraphs, subject of our examination, that needed to be refuted.
As I was gulping down my treat in cold mastery and sweetness then, this little nook gifted me with a cache of reading materials. I am queer in a manner wgere a beautifully designed show or a masterfully crafted craving could make me intellectually drool. To a certain extent, this compels me to weave words in auburn rhythm and melodious syntax whether or not I am a friend of Ralph Waldo Emerson or not. These reading materials are eclectic and are all written in Thai language.
I took the little book of writing nuggets that had been sprawled around the childhood house by my parents: Readers' Digest. A new feature is given a visual soliloquy here: lens-based aesthetics churn out some surprises. Colorful pictures in different make litter the pages. I could have sworn I had missed a pulse beat upon discovering the treasures: men kissing cubs, old people striking lions' hinds, women cuddling gigantic elephants. Suddenly, I wanted to be a pet upon stumbling upon this discovery.
I sought permission to bring these pages home. Yeah, (it is a name) the kindly caretaker of the internet shop, relented. I had promised to return the copies as soon as I am done browsing them.
Human interactions and experiences are finely shrank in these articles.
Even the glossy magazines with fashion spreads have undergone a curious lift. Backgrounds with uninspiring wood flooring and discarded furniture are relegated to the margins and seams for the real knock-out images to emerge: dresses in wonderful cuts, models snobbing the traditional, usual poses. Their make up is different; their skin almost a tint with hues of pink glow.
These mannequins may have short-lived careers as textile endorsers but the outstanding dress exhibitors are those equipped with brightier and wider smiles. They exude earthy, animal appeal without being overtly dramatic. Plopped in abandoned surroundings, their frills and ruffles, in chiffon or satin, wear like acrylic paint.
I certainly know the difference now: these women make their dresses look like Louvre paintings.
Thus, I am back in this nook to reacquiant myself with the world of our design masters and supernatural faith healers, thinking of eating Twinkie Pops again, with its colorful gelatin topping and chocolate sprinkles.
Even the obscure fashion magazines survive here and I already know the reason for it: they are pieced together with only The Wonderful Heaven as their final printing press.
I mean: they are real knock-out spreads.