Tattooed On My Mind

My busy life only allows me a glimpse of TV when I get home. Recently, I've been addicted to one show I never thought I'd take time to watch - Miami Ink. It showcases the art of tattooing, where each tattoo is inspired by a story (or not - "I just like it so much so I want it embedded on my body forever.").

When I was younger, I was always reminded by my elders about tattoos - "Wag na wag kang uuwi ditong may hikaw sa ilong, at lalong wag ka nang bumalik kung may tattoo ka." Then there's also the judgment on people wearing tattoos -"Pag nagka-boyfriend ka i-check mo kung may tattoo ha." In short, I grew up thinking tattoos are bad and only bad people would have them. I used to cringe at the thought of needle and ink. But the show changed this. I have come to appreciate the artistic expression behind tattoos. I really admire the artists' creativity and skill in putting images to life on people's skin.

My two favorites are Ami James and Chris Garver. Ami is hot. Period. Haha. But I think it is worthwhile to mention that he is very passionate about the art and is a dedicated businessman (he co-owns the tattoo shop and a bar with another of the show's stars, Chris Nuñez). Ami is also really good at freehand drawing. I had this pseudo-conversation with him in my mind that goes like this: Ami says "Would you mind if I add some freehand details to this?" and I go "Oh grab that pen and scribble away, honey." Not the sexiest thing to say, but in my mind I got a flirty grin, so what-the-heck. ;)

Chris Garver is, by all means, the best artist on the show. He has the most experience in tattooing. Even Ami said that he learned from Chris G. His large tattoos are breathtaking. It's a shame the site flipbook doesn't contain that many large tattoos of his. Chris G has this fascination with Japanese-inspired art - I love his Japanese flowers! (Off-topic: More than these flowers, I am quite interested in the Japanese culture myself. It amazes me how intricate Japanese details are - from sushis to woven silk kimonos to cars. The Japanese definitely pay attention to presentation, and I appreciate the amount of effort and skill they put into achieving perfection.) Anyway, I think I am just trying to connect with Chris G, one of the greatest artists in the world, on a psycho-spiritual way by associating his Japanese flowers to my premature interest in anything-Japanese.

I am pondering on getting a tattoo myself. Maybe I'll have a geisha on my back, or a star on my butt cheek. I wonder what my Mom would think about that. Hahaha.

Au revoir, Onin

I remember a conversation I had with a friend. It was about the difference between "moving on" and "moving forward". I learned how the previous has a notion of hanging on to the past, whilst the latter gives more importance to what lies ahead. I used this in this article I wrote about Onin. Because while the experience of losing a friend has become one of the darkest times in my life (right up there with when my Dad left us when I was 12), it has allowed me to see things with a new set of eyes. As I've said in the article, each moment now is precious. I drew my first resolution for 2008 as early as now: if it's important to me, I have to make time.

A toast to Onin was published on the November 1, 2007 issue of Philippine Daily Inquirer.

A toast to Onin
By Patricia Palea Orjalo
Inquirer
Last updated 06:07pm (Mla time) 11/02/2007

MANILA, Philippines--It has been more than a week since that fateful Friday, and I still hear his voice when I sleep at night. I wake up and stare at the ceiling for 10 minutes -- or is it 20? I think to myself, “I’m going to be late.” But I don’t move for another five minutes.

I stare blankly at my breakfast plate and finish my coffee in hurried gulps. I walk my usual path, listening to the usual morning sounds. I strain to hear his familiar laughter wafting through the air. I work my sadness off. I tire myself trying to drive the negativity away. Oh, and I smoke again; it seems to me that every puff brings me closer to him.

I just cannot believe that he’s gone. After all, he’s Onin. Onin who made each day at work seem like playtime. Onin who brought an extra sandwich each morning, because he knew I rarely ate breakfast before I left the house. Onin who made me laugh at the oddest times: at lunchtime while standing in line at the cafeteria, in the sleepy hours of the afternoon, and in between sobs. Onin -- who bugged us to buy Happy Meals for merienda so that he could have the free toys that he would bring home to his 4-year-old son.

He loved his family so much. His stories were always about his little one, or his Mommy and Daddy, or his brother, or one of his cousins. He always put them first on his list of priorities. His plans were always tailored to what would be best for them.

I was in denial for a long time. From the moment I got the first text message, to the anxious hours of searching for him at the Makati Medical Center and Ospital ng Makati, up until the night I looked at him inside the coffin, I could not accept the painful reality that my good friend had departed. But then again, who would have thought that a person so full of life and who gave so much would go ahead of us?

All of Onin’s friends and loved ones were distraught. A dark cloud hovered over the Vidamo residence on the first night of the wake. Mass was said with everyone present in tears. It started with discreet sniffs and burst out in loud wails of anger, grief and despair. The priest did not bother to stop the ceremony to comfort the family members. He let them be.

“Life is a mystery, and I do not have answers,” he said in his homily. For me, that was the best that anybody could do: to let Onin’s family give free expression to the mixed emotions they were feeling. To let them deal with all of these together is to respect them. It is like saying that you feel for them, but you cannot truly comprehend how difficult this tragedy must be for them.

Unfair. That’s what it is. Not only to Onin’s family, but to all those who lost their loved ones in that explosion in Glorietta 2 last Oct. 19. My heart goes out even to those who have been scarred by the blast, not only in the physical sense, but deep inside where the marks last forever.

Absurd. That’s what the heartless perpetrators did. That is, if the tragedy was another act of terrorism, a bombing plotted to make us all cower.

Polluted by politics. That’s what the whole investigation seems to me. And having Madame President visiting the mall just days after the incident and waving to the press was not cute at all.

I remember the last time Onin and I talked. He had invited me to have a few drinks. I promised we’d go out during my break from my grad school classes. Little did I know that I would not have the chance to fulfill that promise.

Onin’s death made me pause in a way that my busy life would not have allowed. It’s such a cliché, but I realize that life is short, indeed. Each moment, precious. So, I know I have to move forward.

I’m done with crying. Aside from the fact that I’ve cried my eyes out in one weekend, I can hear Onin telling me, “Ayusin mo nga ’yang mukha mo (Why don’t you fix your face?).” That was what he always told me every time I cried.

So, Onin, I am speaking for all the people whose lives you’ve touched: Thank you, ’pare. I raise my glass to you, for the joys you brought to our hearts and the life that you so generously shared. You’ve inspired us all. Cheers.

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Au revoir is goodbye in French. But when we dissect the expression, "voir" being "to see", it actually means "see you again".