One day I thought hmmm, why don’t I just climb up a century-old tree deep into the forest and pose as Cecil the Lion.
It seemed like the most natural thing to do really, following the world’s outrage over the brutal hunting of the beloved Zimbabwean lion.
This would be my own special way of paying homage to the great beast.
I sought the best outdoor photographer in town for such an intricate endeavor. But our esteemed photographer needed convincing since she had a packed schedule and was also nursing her newborn.
You really have time for this huh… The esteemed photographer said she couldn’t decide whether to be horrified by Cecil the Lion’s fate or my brilliant idea.
I guess there’s a wildlife conservationist in all of us because not long after that we were already trekking deep into the Amazon (not the rainforest, unfortunately, but the abandoned chicken farm of the Amah Soong group — similar sounding and we can’t afford to be choosy)
So there I was perched high up on a tree, S-W-E-A-T-I-N-G. It’s the tropics after all, I mean what do you expect? Our esteemed photographer though kept both her feet firmly planted on the ground as she made it clear there was no way she’d join me up there in cuckoo land.
Just when I was already flowing into the zone, breathing deeply, internalizing my surroundings, I had a sudden panic attack! Sure there were bugs and whatnots doing the proverbial train dance on my arms, legs, neck and back.
But what really triggered my internal alarm bells was the realization that — do lions climb trees…just to perch on them? Are there even lions in the Amazon? Didn’t know, didn’t do prior research. What if this was inauthentic … and disrespectful? WHAT WOULD PETA SAY? Can I go to jail for this?
Not sure if I could do this, sorry… After all we’ve been through, setting up the elaborate production complete with reinforcements for all imaginable contingencies, I was now backing out.
Our esteemed photographer looked up at me with an expression of deep unadulterated pain, like her bullshit meter had just gone beyond boiling point and was about to explode.
I didn’t want to be responsible for sending one of the industry’s top stalwarts to rehab for post-traumatic stress disorder, so I apologized and offered to just wrap the whole thing up and be done with it.
Surprisingly, she quickly returned to her lucid self and politely asked if I had perhaps other “themes” in mind since I was already up there, she might as well take some shots.
And because of my exquisitely refined social graces, I replied, Aha, The Lion King!
Which character? She snapped back. For some reason this made me very nervous and I completely blanked out.
Which character? She was now growling like a pissed off mama bear.
Which character? Was she taunting me?
Uh uhm… why am I itching everywhere?… I tried to concentrate hard. Which character? Which character? For the life of me, I couldn’t recall a single character from my beloved musical The Lion King except Elton John.
Forget Lion King! I pleaded.
Finally, in the midst of my distress, I had a vision of the Hookah-Smoking Caterpillar from Alice in Wonderland. That’d do…right?
Right. A caterpillar. I watched in horror as our esteemed photographer and her assistants began packing up their equipment.
I mean it’s not exactly the great African lion, but…
Everyone was starting to leave so I struggled to make a last pitch for the caterpillar.
Hows about a caterpillar’s metamorphosis into a butterfly…
Our esteemed photographer nodded and resumed shooting but also began humming the Alice Cooper Vengeance is Mine anthem louder and louder and I knew I needed to crawl back down to earth, ASAP!
I regretted that our remarkable endeavor (read: this writer is delusional) took away from our esteemed photographer much precious time from her family, friends, sane clients, non-hazardous clients, clients who actually make sense, clients who don’t hustle for discounts, generally good-natured clients …
I also mourned my thwarted fantasy of being a “wildlife activist”. I probably took WILD LIFE a bit too literally anyway.
I’m now back to supporting animal welfare causes, including the global #JusticeforCecil movement, er– quietly (read: this writer is behaved)
The truth is people who love animals are awakened souls who truly love deeply. And that’s always a great thing to aspire for.
They are so thoughtful too like they would personally deliver handmade, eco-friendly Christmas cards to me every year without fail. Who does that anymore?
lions and caterpillars
It’s mind-boggling how most of us humans tend to warm up naturally to some animals while casually dismiss others as mere nuisances. We are so much in awe of the lions, wolves, bears, tigers and elephants, for instance, that we have elevated their significance to almost mythical proportions. While other creatures like, say, the caterpillars, snails, cockroaches, crickets and earthworms are seen as nothing more than pests (unless they’re in Chef Jose Andres’ saute pan, that is — and yes, even the cockroach).
To this day I’m still waiting for the Save the Caterpillars and Care4Crickets movements to pick up the pace and for WWF to finally upgrade its panda logo to an earthworm logo.
A long time ago, the Singapore zoo had a unique feature for lazy ass kids like myself (my excuse is that I was very overweight so my dainty feet were always swollen). Instead of walking around because I mean that’s what normal active kids do to see the animals, the zoo had a train for other kids to ride on that traversed the entire safari-inspired park.
So once my poor Dad and I hopped on the train with a dozen other equally dainty-footed children and their parents. As the train chugged along, we were treated to a glorious landscape of animals– big and small– enjoying all sorts of activities. Soon the train began slowing down as it approached its final stop. Because it was near dusk, the creatures were silhouetted against a red-orange sky, it felt like we were on a real African safari.
A booming man’s voice from the loud speakers demanded for our attention and announced that the main attraction of the park was going to be introduced. Apparently all the other animals were just a front act for this.
The man’s voice quivered with pride, Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you… The King of the Jungle! Leave it to an Asian to make a $10 zoo tour seem like an odyssey through Atlantis.
All of us kids screamed at the top of our lungs. We’re going see a real live lion! I got so adrenalized I buried my face on my dad’s shoulder and chewed on his shirt. At this time, the surrounding area was already dark so a giant spotlight aimed straight at a cave-like structure where the elusive King can be sighted.
He is here! cried the speaker.
I looked up to get a rare glimpse of the great beast. My heart sank, Oh my gosh it’s our dog Pluto.
Pluto, our septuagenarian askal, had been ill for the longest time.
This lion had the same tired, emaciated look. His hair was a sparse pile of straws, probably because of the scorching weather in the tropics.
For a while we all went silent as we processed the lion’s appearance.
Other kids were already playing guessing games, Is that a goat or a lee-mur…?
The man’s voice boomed through the speakers once more, The King of the Jungle!
Despite the confusion, we all screamed and applauded enthusiastically, still thrilled at the experience of being in the presence of the Great One.
A lion is a lion is a lion, a fool-proof bragging right for chubby tweens who needed all the props to survive the hostile war zone that was Grade School.
Imagine if the man with the booming voice announced instead, Ladies and Gentlemen…I present to you…the mighty…MEATY…moth.
All the kids on that train would have huffed and puffed in anger. There would have been chaos and a lot of bitter tears. And the parents, seeing the riot, would have had to scheme for the $10 refund.
But alas, a lion is a lion is a lion.
After the zoo tour ended, all of us kids were prancing happily towards the exit, our chubby little hearts completely satiated.
singing the same tune, not yet a symphony
Last December, world leaders from 195 nations gathered in Le Bourget, France to forge a legally-binding agreement to fight climate change.
The event, called the 21st annual Conference of the Parties or COP21 or simply Paris Climate Summit, pushed through even though France was placed under a state of emergency due to security fears spurred by the November 13 terrorist attacks.
Paris and France held the world’s attention and thus, made the Climate Summit an even larger enterprise.
We all know which nations are the lions and which ones are the caterpillars in that historic caucus. Perhaps trifling details like this don’t mean so much to the Americas and the Russias of this world, but for us in the global south, it’s still a very huge deal.
Take for example, the all-powerful United Nations Security Council, which is responsible for maintaining international peace and security.
How often does the Philippines, home of brown rice and brown skin, get a leadership role (or a even just a continuing presence) at the UN Security Council?
The short answer is
Exactly.
Such a shame since our country is most strategic in the shiftings of power and resources in this century and beyond.
Who really makes the decision when the world goes to war or remains in the state of peace. Well…about 5 nations. (Shocking…Not ) Too many cooks, after all, spoil the pizza pie. Or at least that’s what they make us believe so we can just stuff our big mouths with pizza pie and shut up.
At the Paris Climate Summit, however, what was deemed impossible, such as the inclusion of nations — big and small– in the decision-making process to save our Earth, was achieved.
Don’t take it from me. When the climate talks began 20 plus years ago, I was busy listing my daily sins on my elementary notepad to recite to our teacher Father Wang at confession.
Bless me Father for I have sinned, these are my sins …uhm… stuck bubblegum that I already chewed under my desk …and also your desk…spoke seven bad words but did not pay 1 peso fine, I owe 7 pesos which I promise to pay…cut out smiling face of Mao in textbook and replaced it with Eeyor sad face …er…that’s all for now Father…
Take it from somebody like Filipino environmentalist Tony Oposa, a legal luminary, whose landmark case in the 90s made headlines worldwide. He represented Filipino children who sued the Philippine government on behalf of succeeding generations (that is, including the unborn) for the misappropriation of the country’s forest resources. He won the case and thus established that every generation has a responsibility to the next to care for our Earth. The Oposa Doctrine is being studied in law schools all over the world.
Today, Mr. Oposa calls himself “semi-retired”. In between pruning his gardens, he helps several small island nations make sense of international environmental laws so they can defend themselves against big carbon polluters that are responsible for their fast sinking future.
I was both in awe and amused when I met Mr. Oposa at the Paris Climate Summit in Le Bourget. He was sporting a look that screamed I’m going fishing, don’t call me!
I held both his hands and ogled him like a crazed groupie. Usually when I ogle, my eyeballs reflexively move inward toward my nose making me crossed-eyed which freaks out a lot of my idols. But not Tony Oposa. He was as tranquil as the pristine waters of Palawan.
I asked Mr. Oposa what he was feeling while the talks were ongoing. After all unlike most of us he was right there fighting from the very beginning. He admitted that he would always be on the verge of tears during any of these annual climate talks. The lip service paid in these summits, he said, was enough to propel one to either harm others or, in most cases, oneself.
But this time, it’s different. I’m happy, don’t I look it? Mr. Oposa looked genuinely pleased.
What do you mean? I had to ask.
There’s …how do I say this… sincere, honest-to-goodness conversations this time, a first, he said. It’s like we’re all speaking one language…singing the same tune…
I hated to interrupt his wholesome reverie but I just had to remind him that the agreement, even if it’s the holy grail of agreements, still had to be put into action through laws, policies and a lot of hard work in all of the world’s nations, big and small . But I suspect he already expected my instant skepticism, the proverbial novice’s naiveté. Of course he already had an action plan.
Who would even disagree that “the real work must now begin”?
Hence Mr. Oposa maintained his bliss, like nothing I would ever say could un-bliss him.
So we’re not yet a symphony, he laughed as if amused by his own play on words.
And as he was whisked away by a group of diplomats, he reminded me again, We’re now singing the same tune…never thought I’d still be around to see this…
Filipinos represent at the Paris Climate Summit.
P.S.
One of the reasons why I love the start of the year is BOOK SALE galore! As I was rummaging through previously loved books at the flea market, I caught a glimpse of this:
I thought Mayim Bialik sounded familiar. Then I realized, Oh my gaseous … Blossom!
Though not parenting, I ended up bringing the book home anyway uhm just in case. ;P
How cool is Mayim Bialik to have earned a PhD and in neuroscience! I’ve not really come across any press release about this which means she has not milked to death every opportunity to holler the world over and bombard our serene thoughts with this piece of meteoric information. Very classy.
Reading her expert advise, I imagined Mayim Bialik progress from bachelor’s to M.S. to a doctorate degree in smooth and rapid succession, getting smarter and smarter and even smarter along the way! Which unfortunately, is not something I could claim for myself since progressing from B.A. to M.P.A. to doctorate, made me feel dumber and dumber than ever before!
This used to get me so down I almost broke the world record for the most number of Cheetos cheese packs emptied in one sitting.
I was so juvenile when I began my doctorate in 2005, the panel of professors emeriti interviewing me for admission could practically see Jolly Cow dripping from my puny lips.
Are you mature enough? One of them had to beg the question.
Uhm yeah…yeah think?
I knew what they were all thinking: Hashtag Punk as in Punk-y Brewster.
So I got into the PhD program, dad raised a suspicious eyebrow, mom bit her tongue. My parents (especially my father) both revolutionary fighters, regarded academics as…well, meh.
Predictably, not long after I began the program, I quit.
I got confused. Why was it that as I was soaring higher and higher into the academic stratosphere, I felt dumber and dumberer than ever before?
I ended up school-hopping for many years without much success. I would start a PhD program then quit after a couple of months, leaving shoddy records and impressions at one reputable academic institution after another. I did this while hanging on to a full-time career because my parents had since pulled the plug on financing my studies.
After way too many attempts at a doctorate degree, a couple of deans at the University of the Philippines, bastion of academic freedom and excellence in the ASEAN Region (love thy own folks!), took pity on me and sat me down for some serious AA (academic acrimony) intervention.
I had long wanted to quit once and for all and just needed a little validation.
It was also during this time in 2013 when I was starting to get really involved in the climate movement.
One day as I sat waiting impatiently at the dean’s office, the usually quiet secretary who reminded me of a Filipino Angela Lansbury and who most probably had witnessed my cray cray breakdowns at the AA sessions, said to me in the kindest of ways, maybe this is no longer for you…nor about you…
I had no idea what this meant and frankly didn’t give it much further thought. But I guess when the right words are spoken at the right time, they not only stick but dig deep into us.
All of a sudden what I once thought was just a tedious discordance of impenetrable postulates (which I swear can bore you to tears, *yawn*) became an opportunity and an invaluable tool for me to create something good for the common good.
This other-oriented mindset, as opposed to achieving simply for myself, transformed a goal into a purpose.
I realized I couldn’t quit because climate change. (cue really dramatic telenovela music)
And just like that, two years later, I’m in Mayim Bialik territory.
My original contribution to the field of communication is a built-from-scratch (think: Ikea) theoretical framework for communicating climate change. The thing with such audacious endeavor — the design of a new set of universal principles — is that it can either make history by shifting the discourse or blow up in my face or worse, get shelved in the library with the Ghosts of Christmas Past and those humorless closet karaoke aficionados (awful).
Quite exciting also is the practical application of science communication. While Mayim Bialik astounds our civilian minds by talking about the “active dendrites of cerebellar Purkinje cells”, which is only expected of a neuro-expert of her stature, my job as a communication scholar (read: glorified Science hack) is to deconstruct the big words, rearrange them and come up with simpler (but certainly not watered down) versions so they may be appreciated by all of us. Much like a mama cavewoman who chews the huge slab of meat into tiny bits and then spits the morsels out so that her young can eat them for nourishment (kinda gross but you get the drift).
P.P.S.
Why are you wearing red? Feng shui expert Joy Lim was aghast when she saw the color of my dress when I met her for an interview.
She was of course lavished in all things blue, from her blouse to her shoes.
Blue, the color of water, is apparently the lucky color of 2016.
Remember, Lim said, it’s the year of the Fire Monkey. Never fight fire with fire. Water is more effective.
The idea is to surround ourselves with water this year to avert conflicts, hostilities and breakups that are the characteristics of the Fire element.
So keep that fountain at home running, but please make that recycling water fountain.
And even if feng shui is not exactly your thing, who doesn’t appreciate an occasional dip in the cool blue waters?
Cheers!
Channeling a true 90s icon: Blossom’s “inspired” hat!
sup.