Stars and Skype

Long distance relationships are difficult, but nowadays, technology makes it somewhat bearable. Cellphones and computers allow friends, families or lovers to chat and see each other at any time of day or night, and in the privacy of their own rooms, or even cars (Just don’t drive and text).  And while we pay for Internet or cellphone service, connecting to another anywhere in the globe is actually free with Facetime, Viber, Hangout or Skype.

In the early 1970’s, when John was courting me (in those days, men courted women and we never said  “when WE were courting …”), John’s mother considered me a bad influence because I was encouraging him to work as a photographer, which meant that he was not paying attention to the family business. To separate us, she sent him off to Iloilo to stay with his sister. Now, in those days, there was no Internet, email or Skype, there were no cellphones or even pagers, and public coin-operated phones were just for local calls. Long distance calls could be done if one had a landline at home (we didn't) or would have to be done at the telephone company's premises.  Mailed letters took a long time, so any messages that needed to be rushed were sent by telegrams. 

My family was poor and we did not have a phone at home. If John wanted to call me, he would have to call my aunt’s house, which was next door, and wait for someone, usually my aunt’s maid or houseboy (then called servants) to call me and for me to rush to my aunt’s house. With cousins practically eavesdropping, there was no chance for John and I to say sweet nothings to each other. Besides, in those days, telephones had party-lines, meaning, two phone owners, usually neighbors, took turns in using one phone line. As a matter of phone courtesy, when one lifts the handset and hears someone talking, that person must put the phone down gently, and wait. If you’re the one using the phone, sometimes, it meant hearing that handset being lifted and put down over and over again, and when the other party becomes impatient, they say “Hello, party line, puede ba ako naman (may I have my turn?)  There was no way to stay on the phone a long time to make “telebabad” (staying too long on the phone).  

It was too embarrassing to use my aunt’s phone to call long distance, so for calls that I would have to initiate, I would go to the Philippine Long Distance Company office in Port Area, near the foot of Jones Bridge (two jeepney rides or approximately five kilometers from Paranaque, where I lived).  There were booths there, and callers were guaranteed not only soundproofed privacy, but also no party lines waiting on the wing for me to finish my call. But long distance calls were expensive, and I did not have the money to make such calls. 

Before he left for Iloilo, and anticipating the difficulty of keeping in touch, John agreed to my romantic suggestion to connect somehow by gazing at the sky and looking at a row of three stars (Orion’s belt) at the same time every night at exactly 7:00PM. We had no cellphones or Internet, it is true, but what we had was a direct connection, soul-to-soul through the stars, it was private, and it was free. Who needs Skype?

John eventually came back to Manila. We set up Adphoto, got married, and raised our own children. We’re still together, so obviously the stars worked. Once in a while, through the more than 40 years since the 1970’s, when John and I look up at darker provincial skies (disappointingly, Metro Manila no longer offers a clear view of the night sky), we give thanks that when we did not have Skype, we had the stars. 

Motorbike Backrider

Carless and often cashless, our only means of transportation in the 1970’s was John’s 350cc Honda motorcycle, a gift from his father. It was a cozy way to be riding together, with my arms around him for safety.

Riding the motorcycle was the way we picked up and delivered work. During those days, there were no personal computers (no “Powerpoint” or “Keynote”), and slides for audiovisual presentations were made from photographing handmade artworks drawn on 30”x40” illustration boards. If available, words were made with the use of letter transfers (“Letrasets”) and if not, they were created by skillfully airbrushing them on the boards. The boards are carefully wrapped because the colored inks used on them were attractive to roaches.

Since all we had was a 35mm Nikkormat with a 43-86mm zoom lens, most of our jobs were doing these slides. We would pick up the boards from the ad agency and bring them to our studio to shoot.

John would get up on his motorcycle and I would then gingerly mount the motorbike behind him with the wrapped illustration boards between us, leaving me with no way to wrap my arms around John or to hold on to any part of his big bike.  As long as we were not riding over speed bumps or potholes, we were fine, but John would continue to show his concern for me by saying, “Talk to me and keep talking, so I’ll know that you’re still there.”

Wasn’t that sweet? ;)

The Little Boy Who Likes Zip Lines

Ever since newspapers picked up the story about John teaching Ian, a young man with autism, how to express himself through photography, parents of similarly situated children have been bringing their little boys and girls to him. Some of these children are probably too young to learn photography, so John ends up inviting them to come to Manila Zoo to meet Maali, the elephant that John has been taking care of for the past ten years. Within the main zoo, there is also a wonderful place called Kinder Zoo, where they can touch and be photographed with animals. Recently, it has set up a rock wall, and a zip line for children.

I remember John's story about one such little boy with autism. His name was Carlo. He did not like Maali, so John looked around for something to interest him. He was not keen about snakes and baby crocodiles at the Kinder Zoo, or its tortoises and monkeys. But he got attracted to the zip line, and pointed it to John. That’s what he found interesting, and that’s what he wanted to do.

John has learned that children with autism have no sense of danger, so John did not know if he would hold on to the rope until he was safely at the end of the zip line. He was very young, maybe 6 or 7 years old, and the mother could not reassure John either, as this was this boy’s first time for this kind of adventure.

John decided that to be sure this boy was safe on the zip line, John had to be holding on to him.  The zip line was low because it was designed for little children, and John could be on the ground, running the full length of the zip line. That would have been the best arrangement.  The line is about 50 meters long- a half of a hundred meter dash, and John thought that was doable. John was game, and so was Carlo. There was no need for anyone to push them from the platform. John simply had to run along with this little boy perched on a round seat that was hanging with a rope from the zip line. Off they went, and John zipped along on the zip line.  Just as they came to the end of the line and John, huffing and puffing, was feeling grateful that he/they made it, this boy gleefully said “Again!”. Without hesitation or asking for a break, John said, “Of course,” and ran again. He huffed and puffed again, but he felt good to have satisfied this little boy’s whim to try the zip line. Twice.

He came home tired but happy to tell me the story of the little boy who likes zip lines. :)

A Chinese Decision

A Chinese Decision

In 1985, having made the decision to stay in the country, we had offered to buy the house that we had been renting since 1980. It housed our studio as well, while we lived on the second floor that had two bedrooms, one for my husband John and myself, and the other for the children. The living room and a ground floor masters’ bedroom had been converted into photo studios, the library into an equipment room, and we shared the dining room and kitchen with the staff and clients.

When we informed our landlady, with whom we had become friends, that we were interested to purchase her house, she did not want to name a price. Instead, she wanted us to make an offer.

To help me arrive at a fair price to offer her, I decided to look around in the neighborhood to see how much properties were selling for. Then, one day, one of the real estate agents asked me to check out a house in San Lorenzo Village (or San Lo, for short), a first class gated subdivision right next to the Makati Central Business District. Although San Lo was a residential community, they were quite lax and allowed businesses to be established in some of the homes (as long as they didn’t build obviously business buildings). She assured me that San Lo prices were at par with Bautista’s, since Bautista was considered a commercial area.

My only intention for looking around was to get an idea of how much to offer for our house, but I was thrilled to think that there was a possibility that we could live in a nicer neighborhood.

True enough, I found a house in San Lo that met one of the most important specifications that my husband had set – that it must have a living room large enough to be used as a photo studio. I showed it to my husband and he gave his imprimatur. I liked it myself because it had a yard and was near the community park. I envisioned having my young children biking around in this safe neighborhood and making friends with other kids in the neighborhood – something they could not do on busy, noisy and traffic-dangerous Bautista Street.

Since I had a friend in the real estate business who lived in San Lo, I took her to the house to get her advise on how to negotiate with the owners. To my chagrin, she immediately said we should not get that house. I asked her why, and she said “Tumbok yan, and that’s malas” (“tumbok” is the Tagalog word for being at the intersecting point of two roads connecting like a T, and “malas” means to be capable of bringing misfortune). It was my first time to hear the word “tumbok” and I certainly did not believe in superstitions. I argued that my husband and I work very hard and can offset or overcome whatever “malas” the house would bring. “That may be true,” she said, “but many people believe that houses like this are ‘malas’ and if and when you need to upgrade, you would have a hard time selling this property.”

I went home frustrated that we could not push through with buying a house because it was “tumbok” and “malas.” I went to bed early, very disappointed and slightly depressed at seeing all my happy dreams and visions of this San Lo house going pffft, and at the thought of doing house hunting all over again.

All of sudden, a thought came to me that pulled me out of the pits. My inner voice was saying – “Why feel bad? In 1970 when you started the business, you had nothing and hardly any money, and today, you almost bought a house in an exclusive community in the city. You’ve come a long way, Harvey.” That thought was enough to perk me up, and I went downstairs to the studio to reassure my husband that I was feeling okay and not to worry about me.

I saw him working overtime in the studio with a Chinese client. We talked about the house and he (Felix Wu, formerly of Ajinomoto) said he would like to share a story with us of two businessmen – a Chinese and a Filipino.

Here was the story:

There were two entrepreneurs, one Filipino and one Chinese. They both had a “sari-sari” store (a humble variety store that sells, in retail, only small low-priced everyday items).

After a year, the Filipino used the profits of his store to buy himself a TV set. The Chinese man reinvests his money into the store, and turned his “sari-sari” store into a mini-grocery.

After the second year, the Filipino bought himself a second-hand car while the Chinese continued to commute using public transportation. He expanded his store, while the Filipino still had the same “sari-sari” store.

After the third year, the Filipino bought himself a house in BF Homes (a medium-level suburban subdivision) while the Chinaman continued to live in a tiny room above his store, which was by then, close to looking like a department store.

At this point, my husband butted in and said, “You see, the Chinese way is better,” to which I replied, “Better for the business but look at the two and see who is smiling.” It was easy for the three of us to reach the conclusion that the Chinese knew how to do business, while the Filipino knew how to enjoy life.

“Let’s have a Chinese decision,” John said. “Let’s offer to buy this house. After all, the studio is here, we won’t need to transfer, we might lose clients if we transferred, we won’t have to change business forms and stationary, etc.”

“Okay”, I said, “for now, we will have a Chinese decision, but I hope someday, we can enjoy a Filipino decision.”

We offered to buy the house, our offer was well received, and for the next 20 years, we lived and worked here, raised our children and grew our photography business, combining home and business as many Chinese families would. We continue to live our Chinese decision, while waiting for the opportunity to enjoy a Filipino decision.

Telepathy

Harvey V. Chua John went north to the HAB fest. I'm going south to Alabang so I can write, check my students' works and prepare for Tuesday. Will pass by MMP to visit my dad's grave - it's his death anniversary today. He passed on in 1978. I wish he were still alive to tell me family stories.

Harvey V. Chua John just called. He's driving back from the HAB. He told me to prepare the house in Alabang as he does not mind spending a few days there. That's mental (or emotional) telepathy. :)

These were my updates on Facebook yesterday morning. John had invited me to go with him to the Hot Air Balloon (HAB) Festival in Pampanga, two hours away from here, but going there meant waking up at three in the morning. I told John “thanks, but no thanks.” Unlike John, I don’t like walking up early.

I woke up at 8:30am and after breakfast, I turned on my computer to check emails, Facebook and a couple of photography forums. It was Saturday - my schedule for going to Alabang. Since we don’t really live there, I had our landline and Internet disconnected, so I had to finish all my Internet tasks before leaving for Alabang. Just a couple of minutes after I updated my status on Facebook, I got a call from John – he was on his way home, and would like to spend the night in Alabang. Wow, is that mental or emotional telepathy or what!

It was thrilling (in Tagalog, nakakakilig) to hear that John was thinking of the exact same thing I was. Maybe it comes from being in tune with each other. I remember one incident in the 70’s when we were courting (this is the politically correct way of saying it now but in my time, we would say, “when he was courting me” – I don’t know why women allowed this change), and he invited me to go to an air show. True to the way he is, he wanted to be early, while I needed to attend to other things first. By the time I got there, there was a big crowd and I did not know where or how to find him. As he would be busy taking pictures, I did not ask him to stop shooting to be waiting for me at a certain place, and of course, there were no cellphones or even pagers then.

So I put my personal “radar” on, sent a telepathic message to John that I was there and where could I find him - and maneuvered my way through the crowd, going straight to the center of what was “happening” while John was leaving that center to look for me. John and I were both thrilled that we located each other right away!

P.S. This status update came after the ones above.

Harvey V. Chua John and Kathy came to Alabang, but decided not to stay (because we have no Internet or Cable TV here). Instead they asked me to join them for dinner and a movie "Dear John" but I need to be back at home for a 10pm Skype date with Harvey E. Jewell. So I'm back here in Makati. It's okay.

Sacha's Favorite Photographer

When my daughter Sacha was 3 years old and preparing to graduate from nursery class, her teacher called for me frantically. She had her young students in their togas, queueing to pose for their graduation pictures with the school photographer, and Sacha was upset. Normally a very cheerful and cooperative child, Sacha was crying and refusing to be photographed. She would not tell her teacher what was wrong.

I rushed over to the school, just a couple of blocks away from our home cum photo studio, and found Sacha sitting in one corner, pouting and visibly upset. I knelt down so I could be face-to-face with her, and asked her gently what was bothering her. She murmured between sobs – “I don’t want him to take my picture, I want my papa to do it. Papa is my photographer.”

I tried to explain to her in the simplest terms possible that we don’t do school photography, and that the school photographer was better equipped to do this job, but she was adamant. “I want my papa!, ” she said with such loyalty. (How I wish all our clients would show their preference for us with the same conviction. ☺)

Her teacher understood and offered to lend us the toga. I watched the school photographer do a photo of one child so I could explain the set up to my photographer-husband.

Sacha and I walked home where she had her exclusive photo session with the photographer of her choice. She smiled sweetly for her dad - her photographer.

P.S. Thanks to my Malaysian writer-friend Chin Chet Mooi for reminding me that I have not blogged in a long, long time.
P.S. @Sacha - Can you look for that graduation picture and post it here?

The Runaway Elephant

Last night, Dr. Romulo Bernardo and Tita Ming of the Manila Zoo came to visit us at our Alabang house, after they gave a bird-and-animal show at the Palm Country Club which is near us. Since animals are what they have in common with us (Kathy founded the MyZoo Volunteer Group Foundation while John still takes care of Mali, the female Asian elephant at the zoo), the conversation over Yellow Cab pizzas and San Mig Lites naturally focused on animal stories.

One of them was when an Asian elephant (not Mali) escaped and walked down Quezon City roads. It was a male Asian elephant, which was part of the Elephant Show near the Araneta Coliseum. It was musking, and could not be contained. Somehow, it got out of its enclosure and wanted to explore the city (I don’t blame him).

News traveled fast, and one of our friends who knew that John was doing volunteer work taking care of Mali, sms’ed me. His wife had called him to share the exciting news that she saw this huge elephant sauntering down Kamuning Street, going towards Tomas Morato (restaurant row). He called me because he didn’t have John’s number and because he thought that John would be the best person to know what to do. He told his wife that his friend, John Chua, was the elephant expert. I corrected him – John was not an expert on elephants. He was an expert on one – Mali.

John had a shoot, and could not be contacted, so I told Kathy so she could in turn inform the people at the zoo. Thankfully, the vets at the zoo had been informed, and one of them had rushed to the site. This was the first case of a runaway elephant for him (and for everyone), so there was a lot of excitement to go around, even for people from media.

Kathy called friends and contacts in zoos in three countries. She first called Johannesburg Zoo where she had previously done volunteer work, but they told her that they had no experience with Asian elephants. She remembered and called an Indian mahout at the Singapore Zoo (who also trained John at some time), but he preferred to refer her to a vet and elephant expert in Malaysia.

You would have to be here to listen to Kathy recount her phone conversations so you can join in the suspense as well as in the comedy. The Malaysian expert asked Kathy, “Describe the elephant,” and Kathy answered, “It’s big and grey.”

“I know what elephants look like. Tell me what it is doing.”

“It is tied to an Indian...” and realizing she was talking to an Indian, and didn’t know if he would be offended promptly corrected herself. “It is calm now and tied to a small tree.” He asked what tranquilizers were available and rattled off some scientific names. Kathy said no, and offered the names of what was available – which turned out to be tranquilizers for cats and dogs. Moving on, they finally found something suitable.

The local vet knew he had to tranquilize the elephant but he didn’t know with how much or with what. So, there was Kathy, without any degree in veterinary medicine, dictating names and dosages of tranquilizers to him. You can imagine that he was not very pleased, and very reluctant to follow Kathy’s instructions. But he probably had no choice, and somehow knew that Kathy’s information was coming from a foreign expert (Kathy lost no time in naming him and reciting his credentials).

The zoo had no tranquilizer gun, so he tied a big syringe to a pole (not a good idea but there was nothing better). He bravely approached the elephant – as far as the pole could separate him, and poked him, making sure his aim was on target. Then, he ran. Really fast. The fastest he ever ran. He knew the elephant would not be happy, and he had to be away, at least until the elephant was fully sedated.

Kathy told us that the right way was to sedate the elephant so it would be groggy , but not asleep. Then, it could be led to the truck. But it was given a bit too much (there was no time or opportunity to weigh the elephant to see how much would be the right dose) and the elephant went to sleep, and therefore had to be lifted to the truck. In the process, the harness broke, and the elephant fell on a taxi that was following the truck.

The taxi was the only casualty. Fortunately, nobody was hurt, and the elephant was successfully returned to its enclosure. They soon thereafter closed the Elephant Show, and returned the entire herd to Thailand, where they originally came from. I hope going home was a happy ending for the elephants in this story.

Since our visitors share our love for animals, we had a really pleasant evening, and swapped many animal stories. I hope I can write all the stories told so that they can be shared with you.

Here's One of Those Aerial Photos

We found at least one aerial photo of Banaue, and still need to look for one of the Hundred Islands. This photo was taken in 1976 or 1977.

Copyright/Photography by John K. Chua. All Rights Reserved.

Love in a "Pan"

In the 70’s when John and I were courting, one of our favorite restaurants was Casa Marcos, which specialized in Spanish food. Our favorite dish was called “Pan de San Isidro,” a Spanish version of Cordon Bleu. A thick slice of cheese and ham are wrapped in a thin slice of veal, breaded and deep-fried. Since I was a light eater, John and I usually shared one order.

One evening, I was home (home then was an apartment owned by my parents that I was sharing with my younger brother) when the doorbell rang. At the door was one of John’s mother’s employees, an all-around helper whom John occasionally borrows as his driver or messenger. (His name was “Tabâ” because he was very overweight). He handed me a paper bag, with something wrapped in aluminum foil. Since it was still warm, I guessed what it was – Pan de San Isidro! How sweet of him! Thinking of John but not of my brother, I decided to send John half of the Pan. I asked Tabâ to wait while I divided the dish into two. I sent half back to John, with a thank you note.

The following day when I saw John (I didn’t have a phone at home and this was decades before the advent of cellphones), he wasn’t smiling. He appeared aloof and didn’t seem glad to see me, and of course, I wondered why. When finally I was able to coax him to talk to me, he said that he was very disappointed that I sent him half of the Pan. This was perplexing, as I thought he would be glad that I did.

He went on to explain that he went through a lot of trouble to surprise me with the Pan. The night before, he personally went to Casa Marcos and pleaded with the restaurant manager to allow him to talk with the cook. After he explained what he was planning to do, he was allowed to go inside the kitchen. John handed him a love letter that he had written, asked him to wrap it in foil, and to insert it between the ham and cheese. He told me that both the manager and the cook, and even the waiters, were thrilled to be part of this romantic conspiracy. While he was waiting for the Pan to be ready, they were all trying to guess how I would react. They were also challenging each other to think of ways to surprise their own wives or girlfriends. He left Casa Marcos with a big grin on his face.

But that night, when he ate the half of the Pan that Tabâ handed him, he found his foil-wrapped love letter in the portion I sent back to him. He was very disappointed, to say the least. While he knew that I had no way of knowing what I missed, still, he said, it was such a let down. All that effort was for naught, he said, and I said no, not for naught. I thanked him for what he did, and apologized for sending him back half of the Pan de San Isidro.

P.S. Since the element of surprise had been lost, John didn’t want to give me that love letter anymore. I wasn’t, but he was also too embarrassed to take me again to that branch of Casa Marcos, so we dined at their other branches instead. Casa Marcos closed down a few years ago.