A Note On Love

The rooftops of Rome from the Musei Capitolini

You grew up thinking you were funny-looking. You had bad skin, your hair wasn’t quite right, your eyes were weird and your teeth were far from toothpaste-commercial ready. You thought you were smart and kind, but you were also insecure and socially awkward. You did the best you could, but the only love you thought you would ever feel was familial. And sometimes even that seemed doubtful.

You did find love, or something close to it. There was joy, of course, but mostly what you felt was relief. The idea of a lifetime of loneliness suddenly seemed distant and fatalistic. It was comforting, and, for a while, you tried to convince yourself that it was for the long haul; that when it happens, it’ll be for keeps.

You were wrong, of course. But it was fun while it lasted.

You were optimistic, or tried to convince yourself you were one. With seven billion people on the planet, you told yourself that the odds were in your favor that maybe it was going to happen again. That love was going to find you again.

But a year went by, then two, and then two more. Those familiar feelings of inadequacy and panic began to resurface. Were you being too picky? Was there something fundamentally repellent about you? Had the world simply run out of people you could actually imagine spending the rest of your life with?

The odds, as it turns out, really are in your favor, and as soon as you explored universes beyond your own and allowed yourself to experience newer things did it finally happen: you meet a person who restores your belief in that most abstract of concepts.

Love, of course.

It manifests in the person who turns smoke into concrete; who makes what’s theoretical and vague into something rational and real. Now, love isn’t just a word you struggled to define: it’s the hand you reach for and the eyes you gaze into in the morning; the flowers that materialize in front of you when you least expect it; and those kisses, breathless and fiery, that accompany hellos and goodbyes.

Love is the person you can have an actual conversation with after that which is fun but fleeting. It’s when you appreciate your differences even more than your similarities. It’s what’s left after you strip away the physical and superficial and reveal the person behind the idea. It’s who’s on your mind when you want to share unexpected good news, or when you hear a cheesy love song that comes on at a random moment, or any time you catch yourself with a goofy smile. Most of all, it’s the person who’s supportive and kind, who can make you forget all your insecurities, and, as a bonus, who can make you feel like you’re cuter than a litter of golden retriever puppies. It’s an incredible feeling, and one you remember never to take for granted.

You realize, of course, that it’s presumptuous to assume that this’ll be it; that you can kiss your loneliness fears goodbye and start planning your honeymoon and the next fifty years together. You tread carefully and exercise caution, but you go with your gut and give it your all. It’s what this, or any other relationship, deserves. Cynicism is a ridiculously easy refuge, especially after past experiences, but that’s not you. You choose to err on the side of faith and embrace your un-ironic optimism. You owe it to your previously skeptical, hopelessly inadequate self.

You choose to be grateful, because love is a beautiful, amazing thing, and the fact that you feel it towards one person, and, more importantly, have that person return the feeling, makes it even more special. It's more than you could ever hope for, and perhaps, more than you deserve. 

Eulogy For A Friend

First, she was my boss. The workplace doesn’t exactly lend itself to the establishment of ties beyond the immediate and superficial, and when I met her, a friendship wasn’t exactly top of mind. She was incorrigible and demanding, but also pleasant and patient. She wasn’t the kind of boss you’d hate; more like one you’d tolerate. We worked together, and I didn’t think I could squeeze anything more out of that basic, banal relationship.

She left before I did. (The office, I mean). People spew out the generic and often meaningless “Let’s keep in touch,” but, surprisingly, we really did. She would text or call at odd moments just to say hello. She’d share stories about her family, how she moved one daughter to another school and how the other one was starting college soon. I’d tell her how things were going at my new job while we had ensaymada and hot chocolate at her new office. We’d make plans when we were in each other’s neighborhoods. She’d ask for contacts or bounce story ideas off me while I borrowed the occasional suitcase or ask her for career advice.

I never really thought about why we were in each other’s lives: she was a fortysomething wife and mother of two daughters, whose greatest joy in life was spending time with her family, and I was a thirtysomething single guy whose Saturday nights were spent in rock concerts or greasy bars with cheap beers and a cloud of cigarette smoke perpetually hanging overhead. But I always picked up when she called, and she did the same for me. Always, no fail.

The meet-ups became more infrequent, as these things often go, but each one was a welcome respite from the toils of everyday life. Her presence was a safe space, where I could exhale my troubles and inhale good-natured ribbing. “Peeeej, kilala mo ko,” or, “Peeeej, alam mo na yan” constantly escaped her lips, as if we had known each other all our lives and I was supposed to already be aware of the advice du jour.

When she called to tell me about the disease, she was crying and I was dumbstruck. Speechless. What else can you say in a situation like that? No, I don’t know that everything’s going to be all right, and no, I don’t know that she can beat the crap out of it.

Cancer. My least favorite zodiac sign, invading the life of a person who least deserved it.

It came and went, and there were good days and bad. Not much changed in our relationship: there were still the unexpected calls and texts about this and that, and the effort to see each other despite the distraction that is life. There were updates about chemo, and I saw her a few times when she was completely hairless because of it. At her suggestion I even did a story about a foundation for people fighting the disease. She got better, and for a while I could almost pretend the cancer was just a bad dream, because there she was in front of me, full head of hair, all-smiles and animated, telling me how proud she was of her now-in-UP daughter.

But then she got sick again. And sicker. Apart from the occasional visits to the hospital, she never told me about the bad days. When we talked it was almost always about some random thing; an opportunity to do freelance work for a visiting international broadcast network, names of people she could possibly feature, industry contacts. She would call and she never let on that anything was out of the ordinary. And so I became complacent, settling back into the routine of our familiar, comforting relationship.

And then she died. A mutual friend, Dennis, called to tell me she was looking for me. I had some free time that day and asked him where she was and that I would love to see her, too. “Wala pang place e,” he said. I didn’t understand and asked again if she was at home. “Yun na yun,” was all he could say. And then I knew.

Condensing a rich, remarkable life into a few words and sentences—it just can’t be done. Volumes of full-length books aren’t enough to capture the essence and beauty of a soul, especially one as good and as pure as hers. We sometimes wonder how completely arbitrary life and death can be, and make feeble attempts to rationalize the order in which we all, well, “move on.”

I won’t do that. Instead I just choose to revel in the memory of an extraordinary human being. She radiated kindness, joy and enthusiasm; a constant reminder that truly good people exist and that when you find them, you hold on to them and do everything to keep them in your life as long as you can. Until they let go, and then you let them go.

Arlene was a mother, wife, daughter, sister and colleague. How lucky I am to have called her friend.

Like Old Friends - Death Cab For Cutie in Manila 2012

This story first came out in The Manila Times in March 2012. The original version has since disappeared from the web, which is why I'm reposting it here.

Ben Gibbard in Manila, 2012

The line to get inside the NBC Tent last Monday night for the Death Cab For Cutie show was so long it snaked past the 7th Avenue curb all the way down 26th Avenue. It moved so slowly a jogger completed three laps around the perimeter of the venue before I finally saw the main entrance.

The wait was well worth it, though. I have been to a lot of concerts over the years but the first Manila show of the Seattle, Washington-based indie rock band was by far one of the best in recent memory. It was an example of how different elements of a live stage show—lights, acoustics, band, audience—could come together to deliver a first-class concert experience that I suspect will be long-remembered by those who were there.

My first and only gripe about the show was that the opening act, local rock outfit Never The Strangers, started playing when a significant number of attendees were still in line outside. I’m not sure how that happened, but organizers should have anticipated the sheer number of people who came out and either opened the doors earlier or waited till everyone got in. Still, it’s a small grievance about the production that was otherwise perfect from start to finish. (Besides, people were really there for DCFC, natch).

At around 8:40, the lights came down inside the packed NBC Tent (I’ve seen a few shows here and this is the most full I’ve seen it). The familiar screams of anticipation rose to deafening levels when vocalist Ben Gibbard appeared onstage. Seconds after the recognizable opening guitar strains of “A Lack of Color” carried clearly and confidently through a crystal clear sound system, a swell of whoops and shrieks threatened to drown the frontman out. Not 30 minutes earlier I was wondering if they would play the song, one of my personal favorites, and suddenly, there he was, singing it as well as he does on record. It was as if Gibbard knew, and as if he was singing it to me, personally. I suspect I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

The poster for the first DCFC show in Manila

The band, composed of Nick Harmer, Chris Walla, Jason McGerr and Gibbard, segued seamlessly into “I Will Possess Your Heart,” one of their biggest hits. The long bass intro thumped and throbbed and sent the audience into a frenzy. Gibbard moved around the stage a lot. In his collared button-down shirt tucked into slim fit jeans and his dark brown hair that swept across his forehead, the frontman looked like your average comic book store geek. The band played nonstop like an LP; after one song they launched right into the next. “Hello Manila,” Gibbard finally said about four songs in. “We are in your lovely city because we have a new record out, it’s called ‘Codes and Keys.’” They played a good mix of material from the current and older releases, including “We Laugh Indoors,” “Photobooth,” “Doors Unlocked and Open,” “You Are A Tourist,” and “Long Division.”

The crowd went wild when the band started on “What Sarah Said,” a plaintive song about waiting for someone to die. “So who’s gonna watch you die?” Gibbard wailed. It’s simple, extraordinary refrains like this—coupled with the frontman’s high-pitched, emotionally charged singing—that elevates Death Cab from other, run-of-the-mill bands.

During the long, two-hour set, the band carried the crowd to peaks of ecstasy, brought them down to valleys of sobriety and plunged them to the depths of sorrow and nostalgia. Throughout the show, Gibbard was bathed in pink, blue and white lights, enhancing the overall mood. The song “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” starts with the line, “Love of mine/ someday you will die/ but I’ll be close behind.” The songs may be mournful, but a sliver of hope always shines through. Even the dance-y, energetic “When Soul Meets Body” and the thoughtful “Cath…” bear this DCFC signature.

There was a long, extended instrumental jam towards the end of “We Looked Like Giants,” when Gibbard showed off his drumming skill, but it was when they transitioned flawlessly into “The Sound of Settling,” that the crowd just about lost it. That chorus of “Pa pa/ This is the sound of settling/ Pa pa/ Pa paaa…,” with a tent-ful of fans singing along, must’ve been heard outside the venue and halfway around the world. After the main set, the band came back for four more songs, which included “Home Is A Fire,” “Meet Me On The Equinox” (from the OST of “Twilight Saga: New Moon”), “A Movie Script Ending,” and the big finish, “Transatlanticism.”

Nick Harmer, Ben Gibbard, Chris Walla and Jason McGerr. Walla has since left the band and has been replaced by touring members Dave Depper and Zac Rae

“On behalf of my bandmates,” Gibbard said, “I have to apologize. This is the first time we’re in Manila. If we’d have only known you guys would be this awesome we would’ve come a lot sooner.” Expectedly, the crowd screamed their approval and I nearly went deaf. “I have a feeling this is the first day of a long and beautiful friendship,” he added. 

Somehow, onstage and in songs, the sensitive singer-songwriter always seems to know what to say. Funny that this is the first time Manila and Death Cab For Cutie have met and already the relationship feels familiar and fun. We can only hope it won’t take long before we welcome our old friends back.

Death Cab For Cutie will headline this year's Wanderland Music Festival, happening this Saturday, March 5, 2016 at the Circuit Grounds, Makati. Doors open at 12nn. For more information, visit <wanderlandfestival.com>

Email pjcana@gmail.com or follow me on Twitter and Instagram @pauljohncana

Planes, Trains and Automobiles: A European Diary, Part Three

In which Pedi and I check out the Italian and French Rivieras, including Ventimiglia, Italy; Monte Carlo, Monaco; and Nice, France in one day

Ventimiglia in the morning light

10:49 AM

22 November 2015

Somewhere near Menton Garavan, France

We’re on the train to Nice from Ventimiglia. Pedi’s singing Adele’s “Hello.”  It’s sort of become the unofficial theme song of this trip. He plays it on his phone and brings the phone with him in the shower. Freaking hilarious.

Ventimiglia is a charming small town. It was freezing this morning though. The cold cut through my paltry gloves and crawled into my fingers. That didn’t stop Pedi and I from staging an impromptu photo shoot on a bridge near the train station though. 

A bridge in Ventimiglia

Next stop: France

It was Pedi’s suggestion we go to Nice and then to Monte Carlo in Monaco. I would have never even thought about going to these places if he hadn’t mentioned them. Now I’m kind of excited to find out what’s going on there. 

Wait, I see lots of policemen outside my window. I think this is the first town in France, which means we just crossed the border from Italy. 

…

Some cops came onboard and sort of swept through the train. They didn’t ask for our passports though.

I see more towns perched on cliffs overlooking the sea. This must be the French Riviera. Cöte D’Azur? The late morning sun is exactly in the right angle, bouncing off of the houses and then back out onto the sea. Filtered through the grimy glass windows of the train, it’s like an otherworldly glow. It just looks so…rich, in the literal, money-in-their-pockets, diamond-chokers-on-their-throats kind of rich.

The French Riviera through grimy train windows

8:46 AM

23 November 2015

Hotel Flandres in Nice, France

I will make this quick as I have to catch a flight in a couple of hours back to Rome. On this leg of the trip, Pedi and I went to Monte Carlo in Monaco and spent a day here in Nice.

Is there such a thing as “beauty fatigue?” Monte Carlo was stunning. When your only previous encounter with places is through song lyrics (“I’ve been to Nice, and the isle of Greece…I moved like Harlow in Monte Carlo…”), actually being there is pretty surreal.

Hello from Monte Carlo

Safe harbor

Port Hercule, Monte Carlo, Monaco

Tourist shot going up the Prince's palace

It wasn't that cold yet 

The weather finally cooperated. The sun was out, and coupled with a nice balmy breeze, it was actually the textbook definition of a pleasant day. All throughout our walk through Monaco, I wondered what native Monagesque people do. I read somewhere that something like 30% of residents are millionaires. (I saw a few convertible sportscars on the road). Are they dreaming of making more millions? When they imagine escaping to faraway lands, do they dream of the tropical islands of the Far East or the Caribbean, onboard their luxury yachts piloted by staff named Jeeves or Raoul?

The Prince's Palace

You'd be smiling, too

Mirror selfie

I liked the old town of Nice. The new part's easy on the eyes, too, but the old town has so much more character. We had time for a glass of wine at an outdoor café (freezing!) and for dinner, we had rice and ulam from a Vietnamese/Cambodian restaurant. Sacrilege, I know. But I was hungry, and the sauteed chicken with cashew looked delicious (and it was), so, there you go.

Lots of waiting for the train

Nice day in Nice

Place de Massena

There are seven of those humanoid figures, representing the seven continents conversing with one another

Lots of restaurants offered "Fruits of the Sea" specials

Warming up 

I love old alleys like this one

Basilique Notre-Dame de l"Assomption à Nice

This morning I had just enough time to wander off and walk along the beach by myself as Pedi had to abandon me go back to Milan. It is Monday morning, after all. Temperature was just above single digits, I reckon, but people had on jogging pants and trainers and were having a go at it along the boardwalk. The beach was nothing like what we have back in the tropics, but then, I suppose people make do with what they have. Although one can argue that at least they don’t have to deal with floating garbage and a septic tank-y smell.

Nice morning

Jogger along promenade

Bicycles by the Mediterranean

I like how calm the sea is here, compared to how rough it was back in Cinque Terre

See you at the Lido

France has been great, and I wish I could stay just a bit longer, but I suppose wanting more of something is better than getting sick of it. Kind of like steak. Or sex.

To be continued...

Planes Trains and Automobiles: A European Diary, Part Two

Covering Pisa, La Spezia, three towns in Cinque Terre, Levanto, and Genova. Part one can be found here

With Pedi, giving Pisa a chance

3:04 PM

21 November 2015

Vernazza

Pisa was a surprise. I was so sure I was going to find nothing special about it. There’s a tower that’s leaning. So what? But childhood memories are a powerful thing. I remember reading about it and seeing pictures and wondering what it would be like to stand there and see it for myself. And there I was, and there it was before me: an architectural wonder that went wrong, which caused it to be celebrated more than it should have been.

The town itself is charming and laidback. It was unexpectedly enjoyable.

Walking the streets of Pisa

More coffee

Pedi insisted on taking this shot. Came out pretty well, methinks

My joke was there was't anything special about this Piazza in Pisa. "Parang Liliw, Laguna lang," I said.

Light rain started to fall while we were walking around

I’m with Pedi on this leg of the trip. He’s an old friend who’s been living and working in Europe for about nine years now. I gotta say, I so appreciate him taking me around to see the sights, although a big part of the reason why I'm in this part of the world in the first place is precisely because there’s somebody to show me around. Traveling solo is fun sometimes (I’ve done it on more than a few occasions), but having someone else there to talk to, walk around and share these experiences with (not to mention take your picture), it’s pretty cool, too. I think it helps that we get along so well, too.

The full complex at Pisa

Chocolates overload

We’re in this tiny ristorante in Vernazza, which is one of the towns of Cinque Terre. I’m having risotto ai funghi (mushrooms). Maybe it’s the fact that I’m in Italy, but it’s one of the best versions of risotto I've ever tasted.

5:38 PM

21 November 2015

Levanto train station

Outside the La Spezia train station

Quick see-through of La Spezia

Just outside the train station at Riomaggiore

Pedi and I are sitting in a near-empty train station in the town of Levanto. Delays wreaked havoc in our schedule, but strangely I’m quite chill about it. He’s the one getting all stressed out. When a country’s transport system goes haywire, there’s really not much you can do about it. But overall, today has been a series of breathtaking moments, one after the other. 

Riomaggiore. The stormy weather helped make things a bit more, er, dramatic

The approach to Riomaggiore

There I am admiring the view

 The plan was to see all five towns of Cinque Terre, but because of the train delays, we ended up seeing just three, which is plenty. Riomaggiore’s colorful houses are perched on a cliff overlooking a wild, restless sea. I’ve seen countless coastlines and waves stubbornly slamming into rock or sandy beach, but there was something poetic about the eternal dynamic between sea and land in this corner of the world. The Mediterranean seemed to be hellbent claiming the land for her own.

We had time to check out Vernazza and Monterosso al Mare.

Near the beach in Monterosso

A street in Monterosso

Rest stop in Monterosso

Photo op in Vernazza

Guy taking a selfie in Vernazza

Afterwards we caught a train to Levanto, where we'll catch another train to Genova, and then on to Ventimiglia, which is our jump-off point to our ultimate destination: Nice, France.

A memorial to Christopher Columbus outside the Genova train station

We had dinner in Eataly, where else?

Genova is in the Liguria region, which is famous for its pesto sauce. This one was pretty good.

Stomach full, all smiles

Building in Genova

I couldn't deny being exhausted. It was a looong day.

To be continued...