Monsieur Disney

Est-ce qu'une vie meilleure
Nous attend, dès demain?
Ne doute pas puisqu'il est l'heure !
Je sais que pourtant
Il faut faire souvent des choix
qui font vraiment peur !
Oh, comme le monde me semble grand,
Quand je voyage -- dans le temps.

Au bout du chemin
On me tendra la main.
Il me semble que ma vie change.
Je serai choyée
Protégée, désirée !
Comme ce rêve me semble étrange.
Oui, et pourtant je l'entreprends,
Ce beau voyage -- dans le temps.

Song, rêve d'une vie
Où j'aurais enfin
Une famille à mon tour
Songe, rêve ! Quell' vie !
J'aurai, moi aussi, droit
A mon rêve d'amour.

Douc'ment, pas à pas,
Marchons vers l'avenir
Sur la route du bonheur.
Est-ce qu'on m'aimera ?
Ai-je raison de partir ?
Tant de questions dans mon coeur
Oui, c'était bien un signe !
Un monde se termine !
Que le chemin du printemps
Soit ma victoire
Sur le temps !

No, I don’t have any intention of making anyone’s noses bleed, nor do I intend to promote some random French singer about a song no one in this country will probably hear of. In fact, this song might get some recall points from us, children on the 1990’s. Of course, we probably know it by its English original --- “Journey to the Past” from the animated feature “Anastasia”.

Why yes, indeed, I have been looking for and listening to Disney songs dans le francais (in French).

Before anything, I must tell you these pieces of background information. First of all, j’aime, non, j’adore le langue francais (I love, no, adore the French language). From the moment I first heard Madeline say “gateau de chocolat” in that cartoon, I fell in love with the language. My stacks of French books and movies, as well as my insistence to insert a French word here and there in conversation, are testaments to how addicted I am to le langue d’amour. It is lovely, after all. Secondly, I grew up with Disney, and much like most people, have a special place in their hearts for those animated gems

That’s why I suppose it wasn’t really a surprise when I started finding random Disney (or animated feature. “Anastasia” isn’t a Disney film) songs in this Romance language I’m obsessed with, a habit I’ve picked up from my friend and fellow Francophile Julie. When she showed me the video of “La Belle et Le Bete” (Beauty and the Beast), I, for some reason, never thought I’d be culling for random Disney songs in French like she did. But well, let’s just say here I am.

The video for “Voyage dans le Temps” (as in the clip from the actual French translation of the film. Not just a still photo with the song. Look for "Voyage dans le Temps"; it's the one timed at 3:05.) happens to be on YouTube. Nonetheless, for some reason, I think it really worked with the animation. Anastasia’s wide-eyed, bubbly personality was punctuated by that sweet French voice singing one of her pieces. Come to think of it, that character has a little ingénue thing about her. I don’t know. Maybe, it’s just I who thinks that way. Nonetheless, I think Anastasia and French are suited for each other.

What was that? You’re questioning my claim that Anastasia in French is very much brilliant? You think if there’s any translated version of the film I should be raving about, it should be the Russian adaptation (since the character is a Romanov princess)? You don’t really like the idea of Anastasia saying “bonjour”?

Well, yes, I believe your claim is valid. After all, Anastasia is a story bound in the context of Russian culture, even Russian history. There is a sphere this story moves in that can not be discounted. At the same time, though, isn’t literature universal? Aren’t the greatest stories in the world translatable and relatable to people of all cultures? Shouldn’t the French have as much right as the Russians to go belt “Journey to the Past” in a language that they can relate to? Yeah, I thought so too.

As I’ve mentioned in a previous blog, literature and the human story are limitless. One of those boundaries it happens to transcend is culture. So yes, I have every right to enjoy a Romanov princess sing how she’ll take un voyage dans le temps.

Plus, hearing Lea Salonga singing in French? That’s always champion.

The Death of Indian Rapunzel

Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes to a fairy tale and cultural character that, unfortunately, passed away 10:00 am Monday. She was brutally assaulted with a pair of scissors, a brush, and a hair dryer for P40. With every snip of those wretched shears, she was being dismembered. Goodbye, Indian Rapunzel. You shall sorely be missed.


…Or not!

Haha! I got my hair cut. Yes, my tresses are no longer waist-length. Instead, I now have this sort of sultry, layered bob that frames my face and shows off my cheek bones. And you know what? I love it to bits.




(My camera's been acting weird lately. Don't mind the line!)

I love how classy and sophisticated it looks. I don’t know about you, but to me, it has this very gamine-like/European art film star quality to it. It looks like the sort of coiffure Audrey Tautou would sport in her latest Jean-Pierre Jeunet film. Or, if you want to go a little Hollywood, I could see Faye Dunnaway or Elizabeth Taylor with the same romantic hairdo in one of their classic flicks. It’s, I suppose, very fitting to my taste for classic and independent cinema.

I also love how easy to manage it is. All I need to do is brush my mane inwards, and voila. There’s no need for special irons or gadgetry. Just a brush would be perfectly fine to maintain this rather sensual do.

But what do I love most about my new hairstyle? Well, it’s actually something that would make me reminisce all the way back to high school.

You see, my natural hair texture is antithesis to everything the hair care industry stood for and promoted ---- big, fluffy and wavy versus the industry standard of stick-straight, thin and silky. And well, high school was, well, high school --- full of girls that wanted to copy the latest trend and ostracized every single deviant of the rules of fashion. I can’t remember just how many times I’ve been told to get my hair rebonded and chemically-altered for the sake of conformity. I got so fed up with the very explicit suggestions that I actually gave in last year, and got my hair permanently straightened (In all fairness, I liked the results.).

To add insult to injury, every single hair cut I had was fit for straight hair. Whether it was layered, Pobbed (Posh bobbed, since the hair style was popularised by Victoria “Posh Spice” Beckham), or whatever it is they’ve concocted, all of them seemed to suit only those with stick-straight locks. It was as if to say, “Yeah, it looks good….if your hair were thin and silky (Nudge! Nudge! Get a rebond.)” I’m sure the hairstylists meant no harm. The styles were probably industry standard. After all, their profession had to keep up with trends. They just styled my mane the way it was probably taught to them by Media Beauty School, but it still made my hair look awry.

The best thing about this hair style is that it embraces my natural voluminous, wavy hair. I love how the hair stylist took a look at my wavy hair (and my wishes not to rebond it again, for now) and saw beauty in it. He considered my rather unusual tresses and made something of it, as if to say that you don’t have to fit into the shampoo model mould to have fabulous hair (By the way, Sunsilk, I love you for using a curly-haired model for an advertisement. I’m still not going to use you, though. You make my hair fall!).

And, it’s usually like that. Whether it’s lips, or art, or ideas on how to further the cause of education --- it doesn’t have to fit into the mould to be considered worthy of attention (With the last two, it especially rings true). Something very peculiar and unusual, if only listened to, can be the idea to change the world.

All it takes is the removal of prejudice and a listening ear….oh, and in my case, brushing inwardly.

Araneta For President

For the record, no, I have nary an intention to run for the student council, let alone a government position. Well, that’s at least for now.

This whole hoohah is a product of something we admittedly take when bored out of our wits --- Facebook quizzes. Upon seeing a certain test result on my former Ateneo blockmate Yumi’s site, I thought, “Hey! This seems like buckets of fun. After all, this is all for laughs.” That quiz, “What’s next for you after the Ateneo?” is no different --- created just so that Ateneans and former students of the university can snicker at their “future careers”. So yes, I did decide to take it. But after all the giggling, what was left was astonishment at the result.

“Alexis, you are meant to be in the political arena.”

Me? Politics? Are you kidding me?

I must explain myself. No, I do not have a hatred for governance and all things related to it. I’m actually one of those rather rare individuals that believe that politics isn’t a dirty word (with consideration to those who believe it as such, of course. I don’t go around talking about political blah to people who’d rather keep their mouth shut about it.). In fact, I have quite a number of Political Science majors and wannabe lawyers for close friends. I’m pretty used to discussing about laws and ethics at lunch. But seriously, I just never thought of my name having the title “Her Excellency” or anything of the sort appended to it.

Yes, I can see myself as “Prof. Araneta” or “M.A” at the end of my name. I’ve never hidden from people interested my desire to take a Master’s degree in Literature (and perhaps another in Linguistics) and teach that subject oh so close to my heart. Yes, I can see my name being equated with some newspaper column I’d write. Hey, I’m even thinking up of my column name, making sure it fits me. Yes, I can see my name in some film credit roll. I can see myself thinking up of plot twists and character development methods for my latest screenplay. But the word “President” preceding my name? Nah!

I mean can you imagine me as the Commander-in-Chief of the nation? Just how would I order the Armed Forces? Can you imagine me trying to properly apportion our national budget for different areas of pressing concern for our citizens? Yes, I know I’ll be giving education a bigger slice of the pie (something I suppose I’ve mentioned in a previous entry), but what else? Can you imagine me delivering a State of the Nation address before the Filipino people? Yes, the actual public speaking isn’t really a problem (thanks to my oratorical and debate training), but what am I ever going to say? No, I don’t really think I’m cut out for the presidency.

Then, I realized that is exactly the problem. Nobody wants to be president. Nobody is willing to leave their comfort zones to serve their fellowmen. Nobody wants to assume the responsibility to care and do something. This isn’t limited to the national level, by the way. We can see this in every class election starting around 5th grade wherein some nominees shake their heads and blatantly refuse being written down on the blackboard to be included in the possible class auditor list.

But, you see, there are around six billion people in this world, and sometimes all we care about is just one --- ourselves. Just how many stupid times a day have we used the word “I”? If we care about the rest of that six billion, isn’t that a much better use of your time and effort? And who knows? Maybe, all that is needed to alleviate the condition of that six billion is one --- you. (Thank you to the film “The Princess Diaries” for coming up with that! I just modified it.)

And no, you don’t need to be president to serve. As I’ve said, you can serve the nation as a government official, director, teacher, student, accountant or jeepney driver. All you need to do is to always act out in love for your countryman and do something.

But hey, the legal age for me to run for president is still decades away.

From Cebu With Love (And Apologies?)

To those who’ve seen me jumping up and down with an immense smile plastered on my face as I went home from school last Wednesday, I believe it’s time for me to explain.

It’s so hard to just be poker-faced after what happened that afternoon. It’s really difficult to keep myself from squealing in glee because of just what transpired a few moments before that. It’s rather impossible to just contain myself at that point. How could I just shut up and act normally (if that’s applicable to me!) when two of your friends from rather far-off Cebu decide to surprise you with a phone call? And as if that isn’t squeal-worthy enough, I realize that no, I’ve never talked to Charlie and Jessah on the phone, nor heard their voices (save for that video of an NSTP presentation on Charlie's Multiply), ever. Ever. Wow!

Despite the scratchy voice I acquired from screaming on the phone --- a requirement brought about by weak signal transference from Manila to Cebu and vice versa (Gosh! You should have heard it. “HI! JESSAH! HOW! ARE! YOU?!”), I totally enjoyed those few minutes Jessah and I were at long last connected through the magic of cellular phones. Finally hearing her delightful, American-accented voice full of exuberance and excitement at talking to me (I’m only presuming, okay.) was also a treat. I totally relished every second of that phone call, and yes, it most certainly made my day --- made it enough to send me squealing and jumping around in the bathroom when nobody was there. Yes, it was most certainly welcome.

This is why I was perplexed when Charlie was apologising profusely for that phone call. He says that Jessah saw my number on his phone, copied it to hers, and decided to call me up. Also, he asked forgiveness if I was offended in any way by their call. My only question was “What offense?” If anything, I was ecstatic to finally hear their (I heard Charlie in the background briefly. So yes, I heard you speak, my soul brother!) wonderful, albeit screaming voices. I told him how that call was such a pleasant surprise and how it made me smile the entire day. Plus, yes, that I’d love another one. Haha!

But you know what? In some way, I understand Charlie’s apologising. You see, we live in a world with a “Don’t bother me” attitude. People are so preoccupied with their own tasks, clique of friends and, well, world that reaching out and wanting to get to know someone on a deeper level has become not normal, uncomfortable, and even offensive to the person you want to befriend. Because we’re so comfortable with the boxes we’ve set up for ourselves, we forget to see that there are others ---- others who laugh, sing, dance, cry, eat ice cream, love literature, make nonsense stories like us, as well as others who don’t --- beyond those cardboard borders. Reaching out is considered weird now.

But, if we do, goodness is it lovely. To know that someone in the distance --- whether it’s another country, another island, another house, or another mobile phone number --- would like to have you as part of their life, look at your real self, and accept you, that is sheer beauty. And of course, who knows the impact and joy that person would bring you if you don’t make the effort to actually walk across that imaginary hall and connecting with someone?

So Charlie, no, please don’t apologise for something I incredibly appreciate. And next time? I better hear you speak too. Just kidding! Haha!