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.