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| ARTURO ILANO |
| A Monumental Race |
| THE AUTHOR HOLDS THE COPYRIGHT TO THIS STORY. THIS IS POSTED WITH PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR. |
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| “We’ve never had a unifying symbol that could serve to bring pride to the country. France has its Eiffel Tower, Malaysia the Petronas Towers, and Thailand the stunning Tower of the Dancing Elephants. But Filipinos don’t have any symbol to rally behind.” Ulysses Hagiwara, Professor, College of Communication University of the Philippines, Diliman “What can be more Filipino than a vinta?” “Haven’t seen a vinta in ages.” Philip sketched a giant square sail that was set at an angle. Using the Brush tool of his drawing tablet, he covered this with a series of bands and geometric designs in bold primary colors. He pressed a button on the touch screen, and the colorful structure was instantly superimposed against a digital picture of the Manila Bay skyline. The resulting image was instantly displayed on the huge Epson TouchBoard across the room. “It’s vivid,” said Albert. “But it’s too Mindanao. It’s not a common frame for the entire country.” “What is, anyway?” huffed Philip. “Common, I mean.” “Besides, it’s a sail. I’d equate it with the Burj al Arab.” “Burj, Burj, Burj.” Philip balanced the large Adobe Sketchpad on his knees for a moment before handing it to Albert, who then pressed the Save button and cleared the screen in anticipation of a next idea. “Let’s hope the Benilde guys are stuck in a rut as well.” Two years ago, on the 120th death anniversary of national hero Jose Rizal, the City of Manila, in cooperation with Boysen Paints, decided to add color to the granite figures at the Rizal Monument in order to “modernize” the edifice. Howls of protests later, an art restoration team from the University of Santo Tomas was called in to dissolve the offending colors away. But the point was nevertheless made that there was indeed a need for a new national monument for the country. This eventually caught the attention of the National Commission for Culture and Arts, which then launched the NCCA Philippine Icon Design Contest, to be participated in by architectural students from around the country. “I heard the Benilde group is creating something to commemorate the OC,” said Albert over his bowl of Starbucks chili. “They’re doomed,” said Philip. “I mean, how do you symbolize the community? With another tarmac scene?” “Diaspora,” mumbled Albert, pretending to plaster the word onto a hypothetical structure. “Diaspora’s a bad word. Sounds like diarrhea. Which is what it is, if you think about it. Our manpower had the runs, and Benilde’s commemorating it.” “So you’re not worried.” “Why should I be worried?” “Because it’s a commonality. Everybody has a family member who’s working abroad, regardless of what province they come from. I challenge you to find something that’s more unifying than that.” Albert took out his Googlebox from his pocket and looked up the Philippines. “Virtual population,” said Albert, reading from his device. “We have a virtual population of eighty million, but the actual population is just seventy percent of that. We could probably use that. Virtual. Maybe something symbolizing virtual… ness, or something to that effect.” “I’d rather not,” said Philip. “As far as I’m concerned, if Benilde’s going for the OC symbology, then I don’t want any part of it. I ain’t making no lasting monument to diarrhea.” “Here’s the secret to designing a symbolic monument,” announced Dr. Jarvis Singh, Professor in Structural Design. “It must be easy to make caricatures of. The less pen strokes you use to communicate the structure, the better. For instance, the pyramids of Egypt can be symbolized with just three pen strokes.” Dr. Singh drew three inverted V’s on the new TouchBoard, a ten-foot wide wall-mounted display device that was a product of the University’s modernization program. “The Eiffel Tower I can make with four strokes.” He drew a tower with an arc beneath and a line traversing its topside. “The Burj al Arab in Dubai I can make with just two.” He drew a billowing sail. “And then of course there’s what is probably the most beautiful structural icon in the world, the Tower of the Dancing Elephants, which I could draw with just one stroke.” “What about the Statue of Liberty?” asked a student. “I’d think it’ll take a dozen or more lines.” “True, but it’s a composite of several iconic elements. The torch, for instance. Or the headpiece. It’s difficult to draw as a whole, but just draw a stick figure with spikes on its head and holding up a torch and people already know what it is.” “So you’re saying that you don’t really have to keep it simple,” said Philip. “I didn’t say that. It’s all about being memorable. People remember the Statue of Liberty because it’s so damn huge. And let’s face it – in the end, it’s size that matters the most.” Albert gave a wink to a female classmate, who promptly punched his arm in return. “Are you downloading porn on your phone again?” “It’s a flat rate monthly. What else am I going to do with all that broadband?” asked Philip. Clara punched his arm. “People will say I ain’t giving you enough.” “You aren’t.” She punched him again. “I have this idea, tell me what you think,” said Clara. “A lighthouse. On top of it is a compass, with the arrows pointing everywhere. Sort of to symbolize Filipinos being everywhere around the world.” “That’s stupid.” “Call it stupid now. That’s what they called I.M. Pei’s pyramid when it first came out.” “Except that they’re French, so they called it stupide.” “Fine. What do I know, I’m just a naïve hotel and restaurant student.” “Yeah, naïve. Which is why you keep the Kama Sutra in your organizer.” “That’s so people won’t say I ain’t giving you enough.” “You aren’t.” The Brownman Revival fiasco is not an isolated case. In 1961, the Jose Rizal National Centennial Commission superimposed a stainless steel shaft over the granite obelisk of the Rizal Monument, raising its height from 12.7 meters to over 30 meters. This led to a massive uproar from the populace, who complained that their beloved structure had been turned into a futuristic rocket ship. And there’s the rub, as the late Conrado de Quiros would have put it. Back in ’61, the protests were the voices of the past, of a Manila that was longing for its glory days, and of the Old Guard who refused to let go of what they knew. A pity, because this singular addition, this towering sliver of steel, could have become the rallying point for a generation that could finally look forward rather than back. But that did not happen back then, and so the generation of hope never materialized. When the shaft was torn down, the towering vision of a bold new future was destroyed as well. Brownman was no steel shaft, of course. If anything, it was a clumsy attempt to add color to our heritage. And clumsy is an understatement—I myself would have stripped the paint off with my bare hands if I had the chance. But this is not a lesson in aesthetics, mind you. The true story runs deeper, and it is this: there is a hunger for a new direction, and for a new set of symbols to guide us, finally, as we progress into a brighter future that we as a nation have become strangely unaccustomed to. From “History Repeats in Luneta,” opinion column by Ulysses Hagiwara. “I’m not used to all of this,” said Philip’s father, Ponce, as he stared out the window of the Cuneta Tower’s Megastar roof-deck restaurant. “When I was a teenager, Manila was all about the slums. It was half-naked people scratching their butts and tossing garbage onto the roofs of passing trains. That was how I remembered Manila. “But this,” Ponce pointed to bustling cityscape below. “This is what you’d see if you were in Singapore. Or Hong Kong.” Philip tried to digest what his father saw outside, shrugged, and went back to sipping his green tea. “You kids don’t know how good you have it these days. When I was in college, I had to depend on socialized tuition. Some auditor would go to the old house to check if we really didn’t have a refrigerator. And then when our batch graduated, we had no idea if we could actually find any work at all. Today you graduate and you get offers left and right.” “Have you been to Singapore or Hong Kong, dad?” “No. But I know things.” Philip pulled out his Googlebox, punched a few keys, and then handed it to his father. “Hong Kong,” said Philip. It was a picture of a crowded cityscape. Ponce cautiously handled the search box, peeked at the image, and then handed it back to Philip. “What’s Hong Kong’s symbol?” Philip shrugged. “I dunno.” “Maybe it’s the buildings.” “That sucks,” said Philip. “I mean they all look alike. It could just as well be New York.” “Everyone loves buildings. If you want a sign of progress, then buildings are the way to go. Taipei 101, Burj Dubai, Sears. They’re symbolic and still make money off the real estate at the same time.” “Dad, a building doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a large office. What we need is something that people can actually rally around, like the People Power monument. Only bigger. And less complicated, because you can’t draw the People Power monument with just a few strokes.” “Is that what you want? Well, when I was younger, C-4 Avenue itself was the symbol, back when it was still known as EDSA. And yet you don’t see the avenue in tourist maps. I think you’re mixing your metaphors, so to speak. Are you really looking for a symbol for our identity, or for something else? If it’s just a symbol that you’re looking for, the jeepney used to be it.” “Now that sucks big time, don’t you think? It’s a symbol of inefficiency. Gas guzzler, crowded seats, pollution. No wonder your generation had inefficient bureaucracies.” “For us low-tech folks, it was the symbol for ingenuity.” “Yeah, ingenuity. Hammer sheets of metal together and call it a car. Besides, dad, what we need is a monument.” “To what?” “To the Filipinos, of course.” “Really now. For what?” “For being… I dunno. Filipinos.” “Right. Think it over.” You know you grew up at the turn of the century if… You grew up using soap rather than flush points; Your sex symbol is Madonna and not Mathilda; OC stood for a mental illness and not the overseas community; Your search engine was on your desktop and not in your pocket; You challenged the government rather than felt sorry for it; You’d rather smoke cigarettes than chew Thermite; Spam is unwanted mail and not a tasty meat product; You thought that the heart of the Philippines was Manila and not Cebu; You talked about computers rather than appliances; Smoke belching is a crime and not the result of chewing Thermite; Your idea of a newspaper is something that is actually made of paper. Sent over the Internet Albert ushered Philip into the function room and steered him towards the TouchBoard on the wall. On it was the image of a billowing vinta sail, in striking colors and about ten stories high, set against the bay area skyline. Around it were tiny vintas, scattered about like a fleet that has set sail. “Thought I’d tweak it a bit,” said Albert. “Besides, deadline, you know. And we still have to print this out and all.” “I thought you thought it was too Mindanao.” “Yeah, but all we have to do is give it a nice write-up. The Filipino as world traveler, that sort of thing. We’re everywhere around the world. Are we on?” Philip shrugged. “What else is there? Just don’t call it Diaspora.” Clara met Philip and Albert at the Shop Room at the Engineering Building of the De La Salle University. DLSU was also fielding its own team, but since no other university had a large-scale color polymer printer just yet, they had agreed to share resources with the other universities in Mega Manila. This led to a multitude of friendly barbs about how the DLSU team had probably installed spy cameras all over the Shop Room to check on what the other teams were doing. “It’s a sailboat,” said Clara. “It’s a vinta,” said Philip. “What’s a vinta?” “Nothing. You’re too young,” said Philip. He scanned the log sheet that recorded the Shop Room’s guests. “Wait, isn’t Benilde University affiliated with DLSU?” “Yeah,” said Albert. “But they’re autonomous. They have their own team.” “Besides, they never saw eye to eye after that Benilde Scandal video,” said Clara, chuckling. “Printing,” Albert announced. They all proceeded to the printing area, at the heart of which was a massive acrylic vat that was filled with liquid polymer. A warning light flashed red to report that printing was in progress. Along the sides of the vat, horizontal bars began to inch from the bottom up at a snail’s pace, beams of light tracing out from them within the thick polymer. Clara borrowed Albert’s Googlebox to while away the time. Philip checked his phone to see the status of his downloads. “Why do you have the Rizal Monument as your phone’s background?” asked Clara, peeking over Philip’s shoulder. “You were expecting Mathilda perhaps? Nothing, just thought it might be inspirational for this.” “Is that the Brownman?” she asked. “No. Not colorized. You do know what Brownman Revival is, don’t you?” “Rizal looked too brown when they painted him. Like the way the Americans used to call us little brown men. Isn’t that what it was?” “Yeah, but where’d the phrase come from?” Clara shrugged. “That’s because all you know is the Kama Sutra. It was a popular reggae group at the turn-of. You were still a kid back then. Heck, you still are.” “Incoming,” said Albert, his eyes glued to the vat. The horizontal bars have finally reached the top of the vat. Now the liquid polymer was being drained to peripheral holding tanks. And as the polymer drained out, the scale model that had been produced inside gradually began to emerge, in vivid colors. “Dammit,” said Albert. “When is UP Diliman getting its own color printer?” “You can always use the monochrome polyprinter at Engineering, then paint the model with your bare hands,” said Philip. “That’s what some of the other schools are doing.” “Yeah, but look at the colors on that thing. The sharpness, the detail,” said Albert. “The vinta really is the way to go.” “What’s a vinta?” Along Bayside Boulevard, a towering media board proclaimed that the NCCA Philippine Icon Design Contest was being held that afternoon at the International Convention Center. And as early as six in the morning, the participating students had already begun to arrive. Those who did not have access to polymer printers brought an assortment of materials and half-made models with them, to be reassembled at the contest site right in time for the start of the viewing session. Those who did have access to polymer printers, however, could afford to come in later, since their works have already been done. Philip, Albert and Clara arrived by nine in the morning though, which was rather early. They wanted to spy on what the other students were setting up. “You did bring our write-up, right?” asked Philip, to which Clara raised her hand to signify that the file was indeed in her memory ring. They casually strolled the different exhibits that were slowly coming to life. The delegates from Ateneo de Davao were busy stringing Christmas lights around their abstract-looking structure. Next to them, the students from Marawi were struggling to prop up an antenna-like object that refused to stay up. Clara pinched Philip’s arm. “Ow! What?” growled Philip. Clara pointed to the model from the Mapua students. It was a tower with a compass-like structure above, pointing to different directions. Clara punched Philip’s shoulder. “I told you,” she snarled. “That was my idea. Let’s see your sailboat beat that. It’s way more symbolic.” “Hey, whose side are you on?” Brownman’s mistake was not in its bad taste, but in its loss of focus. What we need is not more color in our lives, but rather a tangible structure that can prove to the rest of the world that Yes, the Filipino Can. For far too long, we have been a race for others—a nation of caregivers, international workers and back office servants. It is time for us to prove to the world that we can do something for ourselves as well. And what better way to symbolize this than with a structure that is so bold and brazen that the world can only look on with envy? As early as 1961, we tried to do that, albeit on a very small scale. President Fidel Ramos tried to do it again in the 1990s, and once more the idea was trounced by the traditionalists all around him. But perhaps now is the right time to set up our true Filipino monument. From “History Repeats in Luneta.” It was perfect outdoor weather, with a clear sky and an occasional breeze that whipped the leaves from their ennui. The thirty year old rest house, overlooking Mega Manila, was not much to look at, but it was made of strong stuff. Ponce had once proudly noted how the beams were made of real hardwood and not of cocolumber or other cheap composites. A large rainwater catch outside provided the house’s water supply. An old-fashioned sink was still installed in the bathroom, although Philip had propped up their portable flush point here as well. Albert, who was often referred to as the resident geek, turned out to be a barbecue geek as well. He played commander at the helm of the grill, demanding for more primer and kindlewood and rewarding the others with near-perfect rounds of sizzling pork loin in return. Clara, meanwhile, was at a nearby clearing, taking pictures of the cityscape below with Philip’s camera. Ponce found Philip seated at the steps of the rest house, offered him a beer, and sat next to him. “Cebu won,” Philip announced without batting an eye. “They came up with this really tall building. Called it the ASEAN Star. Claimed it was going to be the tallest building in Southeast Asia. Sick.” “That’ll work,” said Ponce. “No dad, it was a frickin’ building. It’s cheating. You know what it is? It’s penis envy.” “I heard that,” said Clara from a distance. “This I gotta sit in for.” “It’s as if the Commission wanted us to join the international pissing contest. Do what Malaysia did with the Petronas Towers, or what Dubai did with the Burj Dubai, when in fact they hired American consultants to construct their buildings for them.” Ponce pressed the tab of his can of San Miguel beer, which gave out a distinctive popping sound and instantly chilled its contents. Ponce loved feeling the burst of coldness from the can whenever he did that. “Well, I’m no architect,” said Ponce. “I’m just an old-timer. But here’s what I know. Get ready for another story.” “Is it a long one?” “No it’s not. I was on my way to Silang a couple of days ago. So I was driving and driving. And before I knew it, I was already in Silang. But I didn’t know it because the sign at the border was way too small.” “That’s because you weren’t using your Pathfinder again,” said Philip. “No wait, seriously. The point is, you can think of your structures as commemorative objects, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You can have all the Fall of Bataan, Fall of Manila and Death of Ninoys that you want. But you also need monuments to tell you that you’ve reached a new place already. Because if you don’t, then the people will just keep driving on and on and not know that they’ve already achieved something pretty significant. That’s what a monument can do for you. And it has to be a really big monument, because otherwise, the people just won’t notice it.” “Bigger than Sharon’s Cuneta Tower?” asked Albert, to lighten the mood as he passed a new batch of pork loin around. “Oh, nothing can be bigger than Sharon,” said Philip, biting the bait. He decided to do his part for the party and opened up a container of spring rolls. “It’s funny, you know,” said Ponce. “I grew up in a pessimistic age, when the government can never do any right and when everybody was suspect and when it felt as if the church actually wanted us to suffer. But this,” he pointed towards the city with his beer can. “I guess I’m just not used to this.” “You’re not, because you’re so turn-of,” said Philip. “But don’t worry, dad. We’re pretty much used to this.” Clara smiled, then turned around to stare once more at the cityscape below. And she realized that there really wasn’t anything to see. This story won Third Prize for Futuristic Fiction in the 2006 Palanca Awards |