Why I Love Rich Alvarez

 

People who know, or found out, that I love basketball wonders why I am into it. It turns I don't look like someone who is into basketball. Imagine an overweight, bespectacled bookworm liking, among other things, basketball. But of course, looks can be deceiving. Anyway, after knowing the first surprising fact about me people ask who my favorite player is. I answer, without blinking, "Rich Alvarez". Common reactions to this are: "Who the hell is he?" "What team does he play for?" and "Why him?" I often answer, politely, "He's in Red Bull [or whatever team he's part of at the moment]." But what I really wanted to say was, "You don't really like basketball enough because you don't know him!" 


Rich's main critics are, in fact, my brothers and sister. Whenever I would watch Rich's game, they would comment "Sayang lang oras mo. Matatalo rin 'yan." Or whenever they win, my brother would say, "Sus, buti malakas kakampi ni Rich." I always defended my favorite player by saying, "Defense wins the game. And Rich defended ___ [the opposing team's star player]." My brother, being the typical Pinoy fan who's more engrossed in fancy moves and high scores rather than noticing the intangible things other players, like Rich, do. Rebound, defend, run the floor, set screens, pass.

Looking back, I first liked basketball when I watched an awarding ceremony of a UAAP season. I could not remember what season was this because I was only in grade school then. I didn't know there were different seasons etc. In the awarding ceremony, I saw this tall, cute player being awarded MVP, with the sportscaster saying that he has won two in a row. What followed the ceremony was the Game 2 of that Finals series, which, unfortunately, I didn't watch because my father wanted to watch other things on TV.


Knowing that Studio 23 aired amateur basketball tournaments, I made it a point to watch out for that MVP. In the Philippine Basketball League (an amateur summer league where "smaller" teams/franchises play against each other; players who're part of the teams are usually those from collegiate leagues like the UAAP and NCAA), I saw the same guy--Mr. Cute MVP--playing power forward for a team named Fash Detergent, where the players from Ateneo's men's collegiate team played. I watched him play and liked his style. Simple yet efficient. Puts up a great defense, shows good lateral movements (in fact, his laterals were so good that he guarded Mike Cortez, a guard, during the Ateneo vs. La Salle finals) and is very down-to-earth. He never bragged about a shot he made, a move he did, and a win they achieved. I did not saw him trash talk. At best, he shows emotion by smiling or by high-fiving a teammate. In a way, he was silent but very passionate about the game.

From then on, I became a self-confessed, obsessed Rich Alvarez fan. I don't know what about him exactly that made me go--Ah that's the player I will be rooting for All. My. Life.--it just happened. Yeah I know.


Despite the up and downs of Rich's career (from a championship in the PBL before he went pro, being top pick in the PBA draft, being benched in his first game as a PBA players, being Rookie of the Year, ACL injury, wins, losses, trades, and criticisms) I still liked Rich and his ways. His career may not be what we (or maybe even he) imagined for himself but that's life, you take what you are given. Rich has taken what life had to offer; what teams had to offer. He did not care when he was benched (or at least, he did not appear to be fazed by it); he did not care if his coach used him sparingly. As I look at him at the bench, I see him eagerly cheering on his teammates, always ready if called on to play. I still like Rich as a player. And I have my collection of newspaper clippings to prove that.

The Luxury of a DVD/VCD Player

Growing up in the South (read: Laguna), my siblings and I were brought up in an conservative family setting. We ate our meals together. We ate vegetables regularly. We were reprimanded if we disobeyed house rules or didn't do what we were told. We got spanked--on the butt mostly--and every wrong deed was punished. We had study hours and TV hours. During examinations week, no one was allowed to watch TV before reviewing. We did not have cable or Internet connection. We are to be given cellphones upon reaching high school. Time spent on the telephone was limited also. It was these rules that disciplined us and helped us focus more on the more important things in life: School, studying and playing real games outside the house with our neighbors.


So when my mom bought (finally!) a DVD/VCD player, my siblings and I went crazy. We got excited at the thought of watching movies we missed or weren't allowed to see. We watched How To Lose A Guy in Ten Days, a movie I've wanted to watch since I saw its trailer. I was a big Kate Hudson fan a few years ago. The movie was hilariously funny but the plot was typical. But being a sap for romantic flicks, I liked it. More than that, I liked that I had the opportunity to watch it. This may sound crazy or creepy to most people (it's as if my siblings and I were deprived) but I appreciated how my parents wanted us to focus less on TV and more on... playing outside. 

Anyway, one movie we watched was Little Manhattan. A story about a boy's first love. Unexpectedly, I liked the movie. There were nice characters and the plot was... well, not ordinary. But the thing I liked the most about the movie was the main character Gabe (Josh Hutcherson) and Rosemary Telesco (Charlie Ray). If kids as young as they can be perceived/accepted to have romantic chemistry, they clearly had it. 

Thank god my mother decided to buy a DVD/VCD player. Hmm, what movies shall I watch next?

Lessons from Gray: A Semi-Review of "Gray Matters"

I’m such a sap for light, romance flicks. The ones that leave you feeling good about yourself or the ones that leave the viewers adoring or wishing that the lead character were they, in real life. Well, my favorite flick, Sweet November is such a film. Maybe that’s why it’s my favorite. But the ending wasn’t. In truth, I don’t really like films with bad ending (a.k.a. those which features the lead characters not ending up together). But to my surprise, I really liked the film. Charlize Theron was adorable, and the perfect choice for the character.

And just recently (actually, today), I watched an offbeat “unusual” film entitled Gray Matters, which stars Heather Graham and Tom Cavanagh, with my younger brother. They were siblings, not lovers. Tom Cavanagh, lead actor for Ed reminds me a lot of Adrien Brody. Tall and lanky with an irresistible impish smile. Anyway, Heather Graham as Gray was, like Charlize, perfect. I love Heather’s way of portraying a quirky, hot but confused gay girl.

Basically, I liked the film for three reasons. One, because it’s a light, romance flick (which what made me decide to watch in the first place). Two, it stars my now-favorite Tom Cavanagh and the guy who played the Scottish taxi driver-slash-friend of Gray. Three, because of its moral lesson. Which is: Don’t let anyone tell you what you “should” be. Simple as that. And because of this, Gray had the guts to come out... and date. Fourth, the soundtrack was awesome.

One of my most favorite scenes from the movie was when Heather and Tom were inside the elevator, talking, after Tom had “broadcast” to Heather’s whole office (using webcams and PCs) that she is (gasp) a gay. Heather was crying and telling Tom that she feared coming out because of many things like not being able to hold hands with her partner while walking down the street without being gossiped or looked at, not being able to have kids, and, basically, because she felt alone. And she stayed “straight” jut because pretending to be one was easier and less fuss than coming out.

Somehow, I related to her. Not because I am gay but maybe because sometimes in my life I act as how other people perceive or expect me to be just because going against the flow is a hassle. Sometimes when I have mood swings and I realize that I am a loser for not having any boyfriend or any suitor for that matter, I think and feel that I’ll grow old alone, which is my ultimate fear (next to losing my mom, of course). Sometimes or most of the time, I think of swinging to the other side. Or better yet, swinging both ways to have a wider range of choices. As if I had a field to choose from in the first place. 




Angsty me no likey.

Of writers and my very own “writer thing”

I always dreamed of being a writer. Not a journalist, but a feature story writer. The closest thing I came to achieving this dream is when I write (or try to) my own short story, and, of course, when I blog. My attempts to accomplish the former always turned futile because of either boredom or the un-creativeness bug that hits me whenever I’m half way to my own short story. On the other hand, this blog, I can say, brings out the inner dormant writer that lies beneath. Whether or not my dormant writer deserves to be unearthed remains to be an unanswered question. And I am happy that at least I can let out this “writer thing” that has been bugging me for years.

Anyway, just this morning, I read Letty Jacinto-Lopez’s article in the Philippine Star under the column, Purple Shades. First things first. The writers whom I admire are Celine Lopez (who I started to read when I was in high school pa), Barbara Gonzales (whom I discovered was a light-hearted read, recommended by my mother) and RJ Ledesma (whom I initially thought of as a bad writer just because he was a TV personality and host first). All three were PhilStar writers because that’s our paper, and I have grown accustomed to the style of the PhilStar that I can’t bear the thought of reading other papers.

Back to Letty Lopez’s article, it was entitled “Awake the inner bitch in you”. It was about the difference of being bitchy and catty, if there was any, and how to, as the title implies, awake the bitch in everyone. So this is the difference:

"When you’re catty, you cut people down out of anxiety (fear) or spite (malice). To you, everybody is a loser and therefore not worth your time or attention or friendship. If you do socialize, you do it out of need for company and to feed your already ready-to-burst ego. You feel so superior that no one can be your equal or better than you."

“To be a good bitch, you must focus on your creativity, your uniqueness. You must not be afraid to make mistakes. In fact, you use these mistakes as a starting point to bring out the courage to own up to these fumbles and feel within you a fount of emerging strength that could only make you better today than you were yesterday.”

I’m not gonna go into details of the article because that is tiring and kinda boring. But, the reason I posted this is for me to see whenever I post something here, and for me to decide if I am catty or bitchy. I guess, I’m the latter.

Holy Thursday Nostalgia

For devout Catholics, Holy Week is a time for sacrifice, penitence, repentance, and doing other good deeds that sort of solidifies one’s place in Heaven. Well, for the workaholics and busybodies, Holy Week is vacation time. But for money-less students like me, Holy Week is a time to relax and forget TV, if that’s possible. (before it was, when no TV station would air anything on Holy Thursday up to Black Saturday). And do things like read, listen to music, catch up on sleep, or post a blog.

This time also gave my high school friends and I the time to gather and hang out. Yes, just like the old times. Siopy, Rish, Cams and Marou, who are my high school buddies that I usually go out with, and I hanged out at Siopy’s place. Actually, we never had planned to do anything. Like, say, watch a movie or play Scrabble. We just, plainly, talked and talked. About anything worth babbling about, the past sem (or even year) that we led different lives. There were no uncomfortable silences. Just loads and loads of funny stories to tell.

Cams related her stories of what’s its like to be studying in a trimester school, which also happens to be tagged as a school for the rich and the dumb, which she is not. Marou also recounts her funny moments at school and never fails to recount the fun high school times, as well. Rish quietly smiles at all our stories, and shyly tries to evade our teases about her high school boyfriend. While Siopy, the funniest of the bunch, told funny stories that are bentang benta. Like, how her classmates would react after hearing an unusual English word or phrase. They would shout “Nose bleed” and pretend to be having a true nose bleed, but more exaggerated.

And while we were talking, and I also realized this much later, I realized that I miss high school. Terribly. When I was in high school, I wanted to graduate agad because of many things like a lousy teacher and a craving for a independent life, which was to be attained in college. I hated, sometimes, the closeness I had with my batchmates, friends, schoolmates, and teachers, because they sort of, I felt, inhibit me from doing what I really wanted to do. And that was enjoy life, by not studying hard, and being with friends more. A lot was expected of me then because everyone knew what I was capable of doing. And one, just one, slip-up, like a failed test or a misconduct, would illicit strange stares and tons of irritating questions like, “Anong nangyari sa’yo?” or “Ba’t ka naging ganyan?” so when I got to college, I was so happy. And high school seemed to be a far memory.

But as I had a talk with my friends (whom I miss terribly) I realized that high school is, still, something. It made me what I am today, I realized. Many things are uncomparable and high school really means a lot to everyone who went through it. And realizing these things made me realize, again, that there are many things in high school that is worth missing.

The companionship. Yes, I admit, I never had such a close bonding with anyone aside from my high school friends (the four mentioned above and others, too). We can talk of anything under the sun without absurd looks and reactions. We can make fun of anything, especially of one another, and still no one carries a grudge or bad feeling. We can, I can safely say, look foolish in front of each other, and still be comfortable afterwards.

The lakads. In college, people meet because of one common goal, and that is to study. In high school, we met because we basically from the same part of the town. The after-school gala and “practices” always bring fond memories of sadness, shame, fear, and most of all, happiness. The lakads, I may say, were simpler, cheaper, and more fun, then than now. Why? Maybe it’s true that simple things give the best experiences, and fondest memories. Nothing beats lying on a heap of dried coconut leaves (which we used as skirt costumes, by the way, for one Foundation Day presentation in 2^nd year) on a cool breezy night looking at the stars, and the moon. Sounds cheesy and romantic. But who cares? I was with my good friends (Kim and others).

The asarans. What is high school life without the asarans and kantiyawans? Incomplete, that is. In high school, I experienced this so much that, in our batch, teasing was an inevitable and an essential part of our closeness. We were so comfortable with each other that naming each one according to one’s faults or funny attitudes was considered okay. We were so diverse, in aliases, that everyone can be named after someone or something that no repetitions were necessary. Someone was named “Frog” for his cute and chubby double chin. A “Pagong” for her slow movements, and the shape of her head’s likeness with a turtles. A rat (or was it mice?) for his protruding front teeth and because someone also had the same features, he was named the “Rabbit.” So you think we were all animals, think again. There were also a “Pikit” or can be also called “Instik” or “Tulog” because of his chinky, and almost, slit-like eyes. Yet, that guy has a dark complexion. Talk about a Chinese Negro. One was called “Stick” for his unusual thinness. And because someone also had the same features, the other was named “Kalansay.” If I ranted on every pang-asar we had back in high school, this post would be as long as I can imagine. Sticks break bones; names supposedly break spirits. Not with us. We used jokes, teasing and insults so commonly (so ordinarily) that the edge, the stigma, the hurt slowly vanished. It is because of this background we grew up in why each one of us is strong. 

So to sum this all up, I can say that I still miss high school. That these posts, which are results of my mood swings and nostalgic moments, would be present in my blog. Always. And I would agree without hesitation to experience high school again.

But I will also say that, sometimes, change is inevitable. So college is still a good thing. Because I learned a lot, in and out of the classroom. Things that I know I can’t learn in high school.

But also there are things that college fails to have, and high school remains to be the best at. This is when I became and developed into who I am now (although I am still improving as a person) and this is the time when I set my boundaries, limitations, views, priorities, values, criteria, ideal qualities in guys and friends, and everything in between. The friends that I have, or had, in high school are still the people who know me the best, and can describe me in the best way a person, other than me, can.

Getting Started: The Marcel Proust Questionnaire

name: jo ann madarang
your chief chracteristic: moody
your favorite qualities in a man: God-loving, reliability, calmness
your favorite qualities in a woman: intelligence
your favorite qualities in friends: trustworthiness, sense of humor
your biggest flaw: being hot-tempered, tactless
your favorite occupation: being a UP student
your idea of happiness: being with the people i love
your idea of misery: living without God's guidance
where would you like to live: away from the people i hate
your favorite colors: green and white
your pet aversion: kittens, red ants
your favorite hero: Antonio Luna
your favorite heroine: Basilia Tantoco
your real-life hero/heroine: my mom
your favorite motto: the greatest pleasure in life is doing what people say you cannot do.
your favorite virtue: honesty
your favorite author: nelson de mille
your favorite food and drinks: spaghetti, cheese cake, egg sandwich; water
your favorite names: gabriel, berenice, joseph, rich
for what fault you have the least tolerance: laziness
for what fault you have the most tolerance: ignorance
what is your present state of mind: confused but contented
how would you like to die: quickly, painlessly

Just a day. Just an ordinary day.

Why did I make a blog? Well, obviously, to have somewhere to post my weird ideas, and rantings. And I plan to make a blog entry every time I feel writing about something or if I feel bored.

Just a day. Just an ordinary day.

For some, Valentine's Day (which is a pagan holiday) is very special. The culmination of every couple's effort to be patient with the other. For some, it is a celebration. A celebration of every firsts, or last. Well, for me, it's just an ordinary day. I spent the whole day in front of the PC, trying to gather every info I can about my research paper. Another thing that haunts me every time I try to relax. (I didn't write this on the very same day because I haven't got a blog then.)

I saw red-wearing men and women walking on the streets of Pedro Gil, going to Rob. Maybe for a date. Or maybe to buy something for their special someones.

When I reached Rob, the people were unusually many, considering it was a Wednesday. Designer Blooms even created a "stall" at the other side of the mall to cater to customers coming from the Pedro Gil area. And when I got out, I can say that designer blooms made a killing, to use a cliche. And for women, they are trying to search the shops for a nice shirt or a cap to give. Even at the brickwall (the area in front of UP Manila where students sit and have a smoke) I saw this well-dressed guy, carrying a big bouquet of flowers waiting anxiously. Checking his phone for messages for his special someone.

Why waste the time? And the money, too? After that day, life still goes on. and there will come a time, that that day will only be a "has been". So why exert effort?

I sound as if I'm griping, right? Maybe yes, maybe no.

Well, who knows? Maybe next Hearts' day, I won't be "busy" writing a blog entry. I'd be busy going to Rob myself.


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*This entry was from my very first blog, which I have deleted. This is my first ever blog post written on Valentine's Day.