was rizal gay?

Filipino historians, particularly those who take pride in their machismo, would perhap cringe. Jose Rizal is, after all, the pride of the Malay race. His writings against colonial rule sparked the revolution against the spaniards and galvanized the imagination of an otherwise fragmented nation.

Was he gay? The article by Ambeth Ocampo does not really make such a conclusion, but it raises questions on Rizal’s sexuality. Conservative Filipinos would rather de-sexualize the image of Rizal, but would not refuse to grin everytime they talk about Rizal the womanizer. But gay? Never.

My two-cents: it doesn’t really matter. so what if our national hero was gay? it’s no big deal. go back to your bible and your business of proselytizing. ban idiotic movies that you believe threaten our moral foundation (news flash: the greatest threat to your dogma isn’t dan brown, it is your destructive and divisive sectarianism. please give a little respect to our intelligence). run after drug stores and NGOs that still sell abortifacients like condoms.

in the meantime, it is our moment to grin.

the crows of kathmandu

G.P. Koirala, the leader of the Nepali Congress Party, is back as the country’s Prime Minister. After weeks of demonstration, Nepalese King Gyanendra decided to hand over political power to the civilian authority by reconvening the parliament that he unceremoniously dissolved early 2005. People across the globe celebrated the victory of People Power in Nepal.

I hope that this victory would lead to concrete democratic gains. Nepal has suffered so long from deep poverty and a protracted insurgency, the latter partly a result of dissatisfaction over the monarchy’s strong political and economic influence in the country.
Caution, however, should be exercised. The ball is now in the hands of the ruling Nepali Congress Party and its ’split’ sister, the Nepali Congress Democratic. The international community has a role in pressuring both parties not to make mistakes as they did when they were still under one party.

Jakarta, moonlit

We went out of BBs, a bar in south Jakarta, a little exhausted from a potent combination of work and the city’s heat and pollution. Anja rightly remarked that in Jakarta, smoking is an unnecessary vice: the pollution gets into you, a lethal irritation that one has to accept, as if the city is a chain smoker too old, too stubborn to have its ways corrected.

In BBs, the food is great and the rats shameless – they scamper around, making their mock rallies in the wooden beams just below the ceiling and delivering their protest speeches just above our heads. We are in Jakarta’s well off neighborhood, and the vermins are there to openly defy the opulent houses, tall buildings and criss-crossing fly-overs that were built in one of the world’s most inequitable economic growth: they are there to remind us that not all forms of wealth can erase poverty and decay.

Lust, too, is nowhere to be found. Jakarta, despite being more metropolitan than the rest of Indonesia, is still largely an Islamic area. Lust, love, and intimacy are getting more invisible by the day. In the parliament, a proposed law against pornography is being pushed by conservative lawmakers. If it gets enacted, even corporal realities like the arms or the legs of women need to be hidden from sight to avoid tempting men.

But as in other cities, Jakarta’s charms and secrets can be found in unexpected places. This time, I found the most surprising thing in a street corner. Under the skilled hands of a vendor, I came upon the delicate art of moon-birthing: you just need a pan greased with about two tablespoons of oil, batter mixed with fragrant aromas and spices, melted chocolate or bits of cheese, and sweet butter. It is called martabak, or moonlight, a sweet cake that can give you celestial dreams. Just one bite and you get that strange feeling that the moon rises from your stomach.

Not scared

The moment i arrived in Manila last night, my housemate told me that someone apparently broke into our apartment again. She told me that she went home Wednesday night and discovered that the door is open, and, with her survival instincts kicking in, she immediately called a friend to accompany her and check if it was dangerous to go inside.

Nothing was moved in the sala. All the electronic gadgets that were scattered around, a thief’s paradise, were untouched. Everything else seemed undisturbed, except her room: her bed was pushed to a different spot. Nothing, though, was missing.

This is not the first time that this happened. Two New Years eve ago, I went out to do some last minute shopping for our family reunion. I was alone in the apartment, and our neighbors have also left their apartments to go home to their provinces. Before I left, I closed the windows in preparation for all the smoke that fireworks would generously belch, brought the cat outside, and made sure that only the table lamp was on.

The moment I opened the gate, which is around 20 feet from our apartment, I realized immediately that there was something wrong. The TV was turned on, and its sound can be heard from the gate. The door was also unlocked and the windows were open. The first thing that came to my mind is that my housemate went back to the apartment. It was only when I saw that the sofa and other items in the sala were re-arranged that I realized that some one, or some people, other than me or my housemate did something inside the house. I called my housemate and her companion if they’ve just been to the apartment and left the TV on or rearranged our furniture, just to confirm some doubts. Finally, when it was clear that it was neither my housemate or her companion who last came in, I called the latter and asked him to accompany me in the apartment and check if anything was stolen.

As it turned out, nothing was stolen. Why it happened or who did it is still unknown. He/She/It can do it again, but let me get this straight: you don’t scare us. Not at all. We will never be intimidated.