Lara Antonio Sample Work (Excerpts)

PUBLISHEDESSAYSFemme FATALeNOT OTHeRWISe SPeCIFIeDTALL STORY

FULL ARTICLE - Femme Fatale // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

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“You feel that empty, heartbroken feeling?” Cordelia Foxx kneels before her

mother’s lover, her voice an almost menacing whisper – the pain: a tangible rem-

nant of the years of living in her mother’s shadow: “That’s what it feels like to get

close to Fiona.”

True enough, to borrow words from Ryan Murphy, that is what it feels like

to get close to Fiona – although, personally, I prefer the term love/hate.

Never mind that she’s dying from cancer, Queen of the Coven and the

all-powerful Supreme is femme fatale personified. Incorrigible, conniving and

clever to a fault, Fiona Goode knows she can get away with anything. And the

truth is: we love to see her try.

WHO IS FIONA GOODE? (AND WHY DO WE CARE?)

In the third season of American Horror Story, Ryan Murphy creates a world where

witches – among other supernatural, otherworldly creatures – exist among us and

reside in New Orleans. And the Supreme1 and most powerful of them all is none

other than (you guessed it) Fiona Goode.

No newcomer to the dark and twisty2 world of Ryan Murphy, Jessica

Lange returns to the series, bringing with her a tragic darkness in the form of

once-all-powerful Fiona Goode.

Estranged mother to Cordelia Foxx, the Headmistress of Miss Robichaux’s

Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, Fiona Goode – despite her daughter’s

violent protests – returns to the school for young witches in an attempt to salvage

whatever is left of her relationship with her daughter, and ultimately, to save the

Coven from falling into ruin.

Little does she know that her return to the school will trigger the rise of

a new Supreme3 – taking away whatever is left of her already dwindling life force

and this is where the fun begins.

FEMME FATALEThe cold, hard, bitch that is Jessica Lange’s Fiona Goode and why we (hate to) love her, (but do anyway)

OCT. - NOV. 2014 ISSUe OF FULLY BOOKeD’S ZINe; WRITTeN SePTemBeR, 2014

1 - A powerful witch can possess up to five of the seven wonders (powers) of a witch, but only one can pos-sess all seven – and she is hailed Supreme of the Coven

2 - Thanks for the term, Shonda Rhimes 3 - For every new generation of witches, there can only be one Supreme. When a new one rises, the old Supreme’s power and life force transfers into her body and the old Supreme loses her power and dies.


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NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED

“The spine of the character is that thing of a wasted life.” Jessica Lange, who

recently won an Emmy for her performance as the infamous Fiona Goode, says of

her character in an interview with BuzzFeed.

“The idea that this woman has gone through life basically like a bulldozer,

in the most selfish, self-centric fashion. Things just falling by the wayside. Now,

she’s at a moment in her life where she’s confronted by all these things — her

mortality; the fact that maybe she’s alone and what did she discard on the way,

like her daughter, [who] could bring something meaningful – but it’s too late…”4

And that’s exactly why Fiona Goode is so fascinating. There is a powerful

witch at the end of her time battling to stay young. Before her are the years she

wasted living the fast-paced A-list lifestyle: snorting cocaine, jet-setting across

the globe, and running away from the responsibilities of a Supreme. All the what-

ifs, could-have-beens, should’ve-dones are finally blowing up in her face, am-

plified by the reality that she only has a couple of months left to live, but Fiona

Goode is not going down without a fight.

There is a sort of twisted poetry to the image of a once-all-powerful witch,

her mortality finally catching up with her. There she goes fighting for a second

chance – only to find that redemption is a struggle: a feeble attempt at seeming-

ly good intentions, tainted by means that are a product of her already wretched

past.

THE BEAUTIFUL, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY

On the onset, Fiona Goode seems like your typical stone-cold bitch.

As a mother, she was harsh. As a Supreme, she was absent, reckless and

then power-hungry. As a friend, she was reliable only when she needed some-

thing in return. As a mentor, she was selfish, and as a lover, calculated and de-

tached to the end.

Fiona’s only ally was herself.

She was ruthless, aggressive, dangerous and reckless. She knew what she

wanted and she did everything in her power to get it – but there is more to her

than meets the eye. Hidden underneath layers and layers and layers of catty re-

marks and terribly snide comments, there is a yin to the Supreme’s yang – a light

to her darkness; a soft side, if you will.

Constantly teetering between stereotypical Disney villain, cruel intentions

4 - Interview with BuzzFeed Staff Jamie Etkin – dated: Oct. 22, 2013; published on: http://www.buzzfeed.com/jaimieetkin/jessica-lange-ameri-can-horror-story-co-ven-leaving#18vv30o

and all, to Elphaba misunderstood Wicked Witch of the West gone wrong; Fiona

at her best is unpredictable.

Right after slicing her successor’s throat without blinking an eye, she sur-

prises us by reviving a stillborn baby. After promising her lover the world and

a lifetime, she leaves him for dead at the hands of her Coven. After telling her

daughter she is nothing but dead weight, she later tells her all the power has

been inside her all along. And when her daughter finally realizes that full power,

she tells her she has never been more proud; her voice a soft and tender when

with a heartbreaking smile, she whispers: “I loved you plenty though, just in my

own way.” And God knows we are floored.

There is no end to the complexities of Lange’s character, but one thing’s

for certain: a new breed of power is rising and Fiona Goode holds the reigns.

FIONA GOODE AND THE FEMALE UPRISING

Why we can’t help but love her despite all the bad and the ugly is surprising even

to me, but here is my theory:

There is something fascinating about power and a person who knows how

to wield it, a person who knows what she’s got and isn’t afraid to show it – espe-

cially if that person is a woman clad in four-inch Jimmy Choos, knows how to rock

a Balenciaga, and wears a killer grin-and-bear-it smile to boot.

In a predominantly male and patriarchal society – the rise of a female

power will make someone take a second look, all the more so if they have abso-

lutely no qualms about it. Take it from the likes of Buffy, Regina Mills, Hermione

Granger, and Katniss Everdeen: if a woman rises to power and relishes it, we no-

tice.

And here is a woman unafraid to shove a cigarette in her mouth and slap

cancer in the face; a woman who, days before she dies, is still plotting the murder

of her successor; a woman who, already thought dead, shows up at her daughter’s

doorstep to offer one final surprising heartfelt farewell. Of course, we noticed.

In Fiona Goode, we find the anti-thesis of the stereotypical submissive housewife.

She has the world at her fingertips and the gal to enjoy every second of it. Even

at her most vulnerable, she was an image of power and strength.

And for all that and so much more, she makes no apologies but we love

her all the same.

“I loved you plent though, just in my own way.” - Fiona Goode, Episode 12; American Horror Story, Coven


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Like its predecessors, the third season of American Horror Story is refreshing in its

not-so-picturesque portrayal of the contemporary American society.

While the series borders on completely out-of-this-world-table-flip-face-

palm-eye-roll madness, it remains a force to be reckoned with. In its absurdity and

gore, it is brave – not that it is eye-opening or bold, but that it dares to be.

And for what it’s worth it – in the rubble that is the aftermath of what

American Horror Story tries to achieve, therein lies the show’s one true gem: Jes-

sica Lange’s Fiona Goode, “the best witch in town.”

In its absurdity and gore, it is brave – not that it is eye-opening or bold, but that it dares to be.


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EXCERPTS - Tall Story // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

i. The year my friend RJ jumped off his roof was 2002.

He was ten. Only in the fourth grade and already the weight of the world

on his shoulders. Things were crazy at home. His parents were constantly arguing;

he was convinced a separation was inevitable. His brothers, instead of making

things easier made matters worse. When they should have acted as role models,

in his eyes they were all but responsible: one screw up after another with nothing

but a lack of remorse for their behavior.

Nothing was going right.

At ten years old, you could only take so much. All he knew was there was

a clear solution: climb up the roof of the house and jump right off. End it before

it gets worse.

He was barely hurt. No broken bones, no bleeding wounds, nothing. Just

a sore body, aching legs and more than anything, hurt pride. A lanky boy lying on

the pavement thinking, am I dead?; and then the familiar sound of his mother’s

voice calling him for lunch piercing through his imagined comatose.

iii....If lies were tangible things we put them in boxes, trying to figure out what to

feel about this lie. What to feel about this truth and why couldn’t the lie just have

been as real as we imagined it to be?

In the span of three hours, I was robbed of three years of what I thought to

be true. The image I had of him – the picture I’d painted in my head, the person

I’d grown to know was nothing more than just that.

There he was sitting across from me, the one boy I trusted entirely and I

thought to myself how unfortunate it is that I didn’t even know him.

TALL STORYAn attempt to find truth in the lies of a person I once thought I knew like the back of my hand. And of coming to terms with it–(if you can call it that)

HeIGHTS, “HIGH ON ART”, FeBRUARY 2014FIRST DRAFT WRITTeN NOVemBeR 2012

...and then the familiar sound of his mother’s voice calling him for lunch piercing through his imagined comatose.

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EXCERPTS - Not Otherwise Specified // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

i. My mother told me that when I was born, the first thing I did was vomit blood.

I cried hysterically for months before they could figure out what was wrong

with me. She says the lining in my stomach was weak. Doctors tell her I have gas-

tro-esophageal reflux. My grandmother tells her it’s nothing. She’s a colicky baby;

it’s normal.

Statistics show that out of four million babies, 35% will have gastro-esoph-

ageal reflux (GERD) in their first year. The thing is, human beings are helpless and

some do not automatically adjust to their new living conditions. Science says not

to worry; she’s supposed to outgrow this.

As a first time parent, my mother didn’t know what to do with all the cry-

ing. Somehow, she’d conditioned my baby brain into thinking that the easiest

way to feel good was to let it all out, baby burp-vomits to make it all better.

iv.My best friend has a habit of squishing my arms when he sees me, making sure to

emphasize the loose skin from my once toned triceps, calling me fat. It’s his show

of affection – almost a greeting.

Every so often, exasperated, I tell him that if I ever get an eating disorder,

it’s his fault. We’ve rehearsed this exchange a million times, perfected it. I com-

plain. He laughs and tells me it’s impossible. I love food too much. I tell myself

he’s right.

When he’s around for our twice-a-month catch-up sleepovers, he brings

cake and ice cream and peanut butter kisses. He pays for our meals. He says it’s

because he has a new job, that it’s his way of giving back for having housed him

for almost our entire college life.

One night, while examining himself in front of my mirror, he asks if we

have a scale. I took out the batteries, I tell him. He doesn’t ask why.

NOT OTHERWISE SPECIFIEDThis essay is the aftermath of a time where coffee and yogurt were my only meals for the day; purging and exercising had become obsessions; and the unhealthy amount of weight I had lost was still not good enough

HeIGHTS, “SeNIOR’S FOLIO”, mARCH 2014FIRST DRAFT WRITTeN JULY 2013

My mother told me that when I was born, the first thing I did was vomit blood.

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There was a time where that glass, digital weighing scale was my first thought of

the day. The first thing I did in the morning was stand on it, mentally taking note

of my “starting value”. If I were home and proximity allowed it, I’d run back to my

room just to check if I’d gained anything after every meal, stripping down to bare

essentials and sucking my stomach in every time I had to.

The weighing scale, now stashed away with the rest of my unused things,

used to sit comfortably in front of my mirror before I decided to remove the bat-

teries, before I decided to put it away.

Every time I had to check my reflection, it was impossible not to step on it.

The only way to get a good look at yourself was to take that step and to pray that

the numbers don’t go past 110.

I can’t recall the last time I stepped on a weighing scale. In my head, I call

that progress, but the truth is: I’m just scared.

vi. For a long time, the problem had always been elsewhere: my eyesight and the

sudden need to wear glasses, the fact that mom felt I was going to lose them

and would only purchase the ones that came with strings to wear around your

neck; my unfortunate penchant for nail-biting and absent-mindedly plucking

hair strands at the back of my head whenever I felt anxious; eyebrows that were

too thick; permanent teeth that started growing misaligned; the overbite that

seemed amplified every time I smiled; acne from the acne years; scars on my legs,

my arm, my chin, from childhood rough-housing that up until then I never once

felt the need to cover up.

Pants sizes, shirt sizes, cup sizes, shoe sizes – they all meant the same

thing to me: I was a growing kid. By the time I hit fourteen, I’d settled (un)com-

fortably into UK size four, Extra-Small-Small, 32A, 7 ½.

I would step in front of the mirror, and never really see that my eyes were

a bit smaller than usual because my cheeks were bloated; that my limbs were not

proportional to the rest of my body; that my stomach was extra pronounced.

These days, I try to look at myself and I can’t even notice anything else. My

gaze held by the girl standing before me – a figure over the years I have found I

no longer recognize. What you learn the hard way is that the longer you stare at

yourself, the bigger and more bloated you feel.

To combat this, you start to come up with excuses, reasons, spiels to jus-

tify your behavior. For example: the camera adds ten pounds.

I can’t recall the last time I stepped on a weighing scale. In my head, I call that prog-ress, but the truth is: I’m just scared.


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I say this to myself every time I sit in a dark room watching the first preview

of anything I act for. At photo-shoots, I hold my breath before I hear the click of

the camera and the shutters go off. Always desperately trying to make my eyes

look bigger, my face longer than it is. When I see bootlegs of a show I was a part

of, I cringe a little every time I come on screen.

Here – something I have never said out loud: my favorite part about do-

ing Spring Awakening was that the exhaustion I felt from playing Martha Bessel

manifested in my weight. A couple of months into rehearsals and I had dropped

back to 105. During our cast party, the day after closing night, my ex-boyfriend

gives me a congratulatory hug: the familiar squeeze, his hand lingering on my

waist. Feigned concern and all, he jokes: ang payat mo masyado, kumakain ka

ba? I take this as a compliment.

For all of the shows and films I have been a part of thus far, of myself this

much I’ve learned: the difficulty of acting is directly proportional to being able to

look at yourself in the mirror and being happy with what you see.

How many times do they have tell you: the size of your body is not equiv-

alent to your self worth? What they don’t say is that the bigger you are, the more

room there is to hate yourself.

#1: The camera adds ten pounds. #2: The symptoms of peptic ulcer in-

clude: abdominal pain, nausea, copious vomiting, bloating, weight loss, loss of

appetite. #3: It isn’t an eating disorder if you don’t force yourself to vomit. #4: You

can’t skip meals. You have an ulcer. #5: Running will keep you alive. When your

lungs feel like they’re on fire and your calves are shaking, you’re doing something

right.

I learned to beat asthma this way.

How many times do they have to tell you: the size of your body is not equivalent to your self worth? What they don’t say is that the bigger you are, the more room there is to hate yourself.


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SCRIPTSHeRe AND THeReAFTeRINVISIBLe mONSTeRSmImeSISUGOY NG DUYANPLDT AVP ReCRUITmeNT INFOmeRCIALSUmmeRCAmP THe mUSICAL

EXCERPTS - Here and Thereafter // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

HERE & THEREAFTERAn original musical about coping with the death, from the perspective of the one who had left

CO-WRITTeN WITH TONY S. BATTUNGFIRST DRAFT WRITTeN OCTOBeR 2013

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EXCERPTS - Here and Thereafter // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

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INVISIBLE MONSTERSWe were asked to create a one-minute film with the prompt: Searching for Inspiration, this was the outcome of that

WRITTeN, DIReCTeD AND PRODUCeD FOR FeATURe FILm DIReCTING CLASS

EXCERPTS - Invisible Monsters // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

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EXCERPTS - Mimesis: A Series of Short Films // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

MIMESIS: A SERIES OF SHORT FILMSThis series of short films are based on true stories of one’s struggle with mental illness, of art imitating life. This script was based on the story of Interviewee #4

WRITTeN, DIReCTeD AND PRODUCeD FOR UNDeRGRADUATe THeSIS (AB COm)

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EXCERPTS - Ugoy ng Duyan // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

UGOY NG DUYANThis short film is about a family who struggle with living with an OFW for a mother

WRITTeN, DIReCTeD AND PRODUCeD FOR FeATURe FILm DIReCTING CLASS

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EXCERPTS - Ugoy ng Duyan // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

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PLDT AVP RECURITMENT INFOMERCIALThis was written as part of PLDT’s New Recruitment Campaign;

WRITTeN, DIReCTeD AND PRODUCeD FOR PLDT; mAY 2013

EXCERPTS - PLDT AVP Recruitment Infomercial // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

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EXCERPTS - Summer Camp: the Musical // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

SUMMER CAMP: THE MUSICALA stage adaptation of the movie, Camp, written, produced and directed for Ateneo Blue Repertory’s 2012 Newbie Production

CO-WRITTeN WITH ALDRICH ALCANTARAmAY 2012, STAGeD: SePTemBeR 2012

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EXCERPTS - Summer Camp: the Musical // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

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TAHANANexCeRPTS FROm THe eSSAYS I WROTe FOR mY CReATIVe WRITING NON-FICTION THeSIS:

AN ORIGIN STORYOF HOme, IN FRAGmeNTSNOT OTHeRWISe SPeCIFIeDTHe ONe WITH THe GLASS DOOR

EXCERPTS - An Origin Story // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

I come from a marriage between the arts and the military.

Imagine what that was like growing up.

Every night was a mini staging of The Three Little Pigs, your mother’s

voice changing with every character – the narrator, the big bad wolf, the practical

eldest pig – your blankets served as the only protection from the huff and the puff

and the blow your house down.

If dad was home early, you fall asleep to stories of love letters from a man

who courted his wife from afar, romanticized memories of his days inside the

academy – how he would sneak out during the weekends, risking punishment just

to see her face; what it felt like to hold a gun in his hand for the first time, what it

felt like to fire it.

You wake up to humming, your mother’s voice ringing in your ears. Every

corner of the house decorated with sculptures of angels, of chipped wings and

Jesus; paintings of Maria Makiling, the mountain shaped as beautiful virgin; po-

ems disguised as love letters and sketches of a childhood so vividly remembered.

Your home is her private gallery, save for that little corner in the house, behind the

door, where your father left his guns.

AN ORIGIN STORYI come from a beautiful marriage of the arts and the military, a product of growing up with a pen in one hand and a gun in the other.

FIRST DRAFT WRITTeN JULY 2013 FOR mY NON-FICTION WORKSHOP CLASS

I come from a marriage between the arts and the military. Imagine what that was like growing up.

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EXCERPTS - Of Home, In Fragments // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

1.When my sister was six years old, her kindergarten teacher asked them to draw a

picture of home. My sister, not yet the artist that she was going to become, came

up with a sketch of a three-story house: six rooms, five bathrooms. In the drawing,

she included a family portrait: stick figures standing at the front door: Mama,

Papa, Ate Lara, Iya (Me) and two dogs standing beside my stick figure that looked

nothing like their breed. Above the squiggles that resembled something a little

bit like dogs: their names, Tiny and Jenny.

On her last day of school, when the teachers returned all the work the kids

have accumulated over the school year, my mom found the drawing amongst my

sister’s things.

“Why did you tell your teacher we had three floors and six rooms?”

I laughed when I heard it. “Maybe she counted the rooms in Los Baños.”

At the time, we lived in a townhouse, owned only one of the houses in

our compound: one-story, two bedrooms, a tiny garage for our two cars and two

dogs, one shared bathroom for everyone.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” my sister tells her. “I lied.”

2. I cannot recall the last time I spent Christmas in Manila. My parents are both from

the province and because of this, we have family to visit in the province during

the holidays.

Christmas Eve was spent with my mom’s side at my grandfather’s house in

Lucena, Quezon while Christmas Day was spent on the road to my father’s prov-

ince: Los Baños, Laguna. I don’t remember much about Christmas Day, but I have

always looked forward to Christmas Eve.

My older cousin and I acted as Santa’s little helpers, distributing choco-

lates, money and sweets to the Christmas socks that hung on the wall for all of

OF HOME, IN FRAGMENTSI spent years on the road, searching for the perfect place to call home–only to find it in the most unexpected of places

WRITTeN DeCemBeR 2013, AS PART OF THe FINAL mANUSCRIPT OF TAHANAN

I come from a marriage between the arts and the military. Imagine what that was like growing up.

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my grandfather’s children and grandchildren. At midnight, my uncle would stomp

on the wooden stairs and my father would let out a resounding ho ho ho. We’d

run to the kids’ bedrooms and exclaim, “Santa was here. Hurry he’s upstairs, you

might miss him.”

When I was younger, I used to sleep in the guest room with my parents

and sister downstairs. When my brother was born and my grandmother died, I

was relocated to my grandfather’s room. He doesn’t sleep on his bed, prefers the

lazy boy so most days I have the room all to myself.

His bed is hard and the pillows are tough, unlike my foam mattress back in

Manila. There is a computer screen at the foot of his bed that he uses as a CCTV

monitor. When my brother asks me what it’s for, I tell him it’s so our grandfather

knows when the zombies are coming before they even get near the house. The

light from the screen is blue and it is keeps me awake while my eyes try to adjust

to the darkness. It is the only thing I see when I turn the lights out.

When I wake up on my grandfather’s bed, to the sounds of the kids play-

ing the piano – now slightly out of tune – and his loud, booming voice in the

morning, it’s as if I’d slept for months. Like I did not know the meaning of the word

tired.

Like I did not know the meaning of the word tired.

EXCERPTS - Of Home, In Fragments // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

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ii. As of 2011, experts have categorized four types of eating disorders.

The two most popular and officially recognized ones are anorexia nervosa

and bulimia nervosa. The other is the binge-eating disorder. Of the four, the one

unknown to most people is EDNOS: Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified.

EDNOS, not be confused with anorexia or bulimia, has symptoms of the two

combined. It’s easy to mistake one for the other or as a combination of the two.

Experts say the signs to watch out for are almost the same – but not quite. It’s

severe, but the key word is almost.

Watch out for people with distorted body images. People who restrict

eating or compensate by purging and/or too much exercise. It’s easy to fall into

the trap of mistaking these people for every other teenager on this planet. There

is a need to be wary of that.

Because the eating disorder is not widely recognized, people suffering

from EDNOS may not know that they are.

They aren’t always overweight; they aren’t always underweight. They don’t

intentionally vomit as often as those who are suffering from bulimia do; they starve

themselves on very rare occasions; sometimes the closest thing they get to it is

entertaining the thought.

On the surface, they are obsessed with eating healthy, sometimes putting

themselves on diets that are “doctor-approved”. More importantly, people suf-

fering from EDNOS always feel the need for exercise, but don’t necessarily follow

through with it. A person suffering from it could look as healthy as an athlete but

never really feel that way.

Recent studies show that in 2012, EDNOS has become one of the most

prominent eating disorders, occurring in people of all ages.

If left untreated, people suffering from EDNOS are at a risk of developing

long-term psychological and physical problems that are closely related to the

NOT OTHERWISE SPECIFIEDAs a part of the final manuscript of Tahanan, the essay tackles how my home life has effected my self-image, among others

FIRST DRAFT WRITTeN JULY 2013 FOR mY NON-FICTION WORKSHOP CLASS

A person suffering from it could look as healthy as an athlete but never really feel that way.

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eating disorder to which their symptoms are closely related. Some of these long-

term effects include: irritability, self-loathing, anxiety and depression.

iii. You are 107 on a good day.

#1: When you wake up in the morning, everything is still. You get up from

bed and you stare at yourself in the mirror – nothing. Your heart is not pounding

fast against your ribcage and you don’t feel the need to rush to the bathroom be-

cause you can’t breathe. You ate too much the night before; there were too many

options you just had to try; it was your best friend’s birthday; you told yourself you

were going to burn it the next day – so what? The good news is, you don’t feel

anything.

#2: It’s eleven in the evening. Your running shoes are on the floor, the

sauna suit and cling wrap already laid out for use but you are already comfort-

able. You are already settled in your four-poster bed, watching the brand new

parakeets from your window, the ones your brother’s best friend gave him for his

birthday. The urge to run is dwindling.

#3: There is a pack of instant coffee on your desk and a glass of hot water

filled three-thirds from the rim that remain untouched. You don’t move from your

seat and proceed to work without coffee. You tell yourself coffee has high levels

of acid which means coffee is bad for your health. Coffee will have you rushing to

the toilet, half-regretting the fact that you had next to nothing else to eat. Coffee

will leave you with a bad taste in your mouth and a petrifying lack of remorse for

consciously choosing to have it that way, so you have none of it. You tell yourself

you don’t make room for the things that make you feel bad about yourself.

You are 107 on a good day. And by good day, I mean, ideally.

You are 107 on a good day. And by good day, I mean, ideally.


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EXCERPTS - The One with the Glass Door // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

You should know that instead of windows, I have a door.

It is made of tempered glass and is covered by beige and brown sinamay

curtains that match my bed sheets perfectly. My mother, when she semi-retired,

decided to be a homemaker – and for the record, at least in my opinion, she hap-

pens to be exceptional at everything she does.

My house is designed in such a way that my room is separated from the

main house by a courtyard. Grey marble and cobblestones, wooden panels, my

best friend the elliptical, a sandbox and a mini bamboo garden come between

the master’s bedroom and mine. To protect my mother’s courtyard, a sunroof was

built connecting the main house and mine in such a way that when you view the

house from above, it looks like one long sprawl of a bungalow.

I have mixed feelings about the sunroof because the light seeping through

my windoor is so terrible in the morning that some nights I have to fully draw my

curtains, making it impossible to wake up for class because then it’d be too dark.

My only consolation is that at night, when the curtains aren’t fully drawn, the

streetlights are so beautiful it’s hard to look away.

* * *I am sixteen and a half. It is summer. My girlfriend is lying beside me and I am

fat and happy and I refuse to be productive. My mother is busy with my younger

sister whose gymnastics career is suddenly on the rise and my dad is always at

work. No one is ever home enough to pay attention to me, and I delight in that.

We never leave my room, even when we have to.

I have memorized the cracks on my bedroom walls the same way I know

the freckles on her body like the back of my hand. I wake up to yellow and her

smile for what is my most unproductive summer to date and I think to myself that

this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

My room has become a sanctuary, holding our secrets the way a mother

THE ONE WITH THE GLASS DOOROf my relationship with my mother, who I was, and what it was like growing up with the girl behind the glass door

FIRST DRAFT WRITTeN mARCH 2013 FOR mY NON-FICTION SemINAR CLASS

I have memorized the cracks on my bedroom walls the same way I know the freckles on her body like the back of my hand. I wake up to yellow and her smile for what is my most unproductive summer to date and I think to myself that this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

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holds her child.

That was the year I learned mothers are always right about these things,

even if they’re one year early in their accusations.

That was the year I decided it was okay to go against everything I thought

I knew.

* * *They say that you can hold memories outside of your brain.

Maybe they’re right. The things around you become part of who you are:

the walls know your secrets; the floorboards know that instead of turning right to

your room, you turn left and find comfort lying in bed with the boy who promised

you a lifetime and two dogs; the doors hear the whispers you say to your sister

the nights you get home way past curfew; the pillows know the stories behind

every tear you have ever cried.

My old room has been turned into a storage, housing boxes of my dad’s

old stuff, unopened cases of beer, mattresses that have never been used, gifts my

mom has no use for, drawers and shelves filled with things I did not want to throw

out but could not fit into my new room.

Every time I find myself in there, looking for something that once be-

longed to me, I cannot shake the feeling that once upon a time, eight years ago,

a little girl sat in that very room with a color palette in her hands, trying to decide

what color she should paint the first room she could ever call her own.

I am twenty years old. It’s twelve midnight, June 29, 2012: my mother’s 49th birth-

day. I just posted a series of photos I took of her over the summer and started the

dedication of by saying: to the girl who texts me lame jokes at one in the morning

(and also, my best friend).

She replies saying, “Thanks honey. The gift, ‘a daughter is a little girl who

grows up to be a friend’ was a wish. And the wish has come true.”

I get up from my chair and stand in front of my glass door. The light shifts

in the master’s bedroom and I watch as silhouettes dance against white curtains,

her shadow just as graceful as she. On the other side of the house, my mother

stops what she is doing, walks in front of her glass door, draws her curtains and

waves. I wave back, blow her a flying kiss and slide open my glass door. “Happy

Birthday, Ma! I love you!” She sticks her head out to say thank you then reminds

me to lock all doors before I go to bed.

That was the year I learned that if you wanted to, you could always try

again.

...I cannot shake the feeling that once upon a time, eight years ago, a little girl sat in that very room with a color palette in her hands, trying to decide what color she should paint the first room she could ever call her own.


28/38

WORKFeATURe ARTICLeS FOR eASTGATe PUBLISHING:

THe WALLeD CITY–AFTeR DARKmR. CONSUNJI FeATURe ARTICLe (for my sT. Luke’s sTory)CHeKOV Re-mASTeReDReDISCOVeRING BOHOL

FULL ARTICLE - The Walled City–After Dark // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

A guest in every Filipino household is always treated to a welcome banquet, or

will not depart without a final hurrah. So, if you’re still thinking of ways to welcome

or send off your honored guest, why not whisk him or her away to the Walled City,

after dark?

We’re all too familiar with the allure of this historical landmark: the cob-

bled walkways, magnificent churches, stone palaces and sometimes, even the

guardia sibil that still walk around this city; but Intramuros at night is quite a spec-

tacle. Armed with the charm of a dim, flickering yellow light from a 19th century

lamppost, Old Manila at night tells a different story.

MANILA BAY SUNSET CRUISEBefore sundown, head on to the Cultural Center of the Philippines, board a lux-

urious ferry for dinner, and immerse yourself in the glorious Manila Bay sunset.

The Dinner Cruise sets sail at 5:30, 7pm and 9:30pm on weekdays and 5,

7 and 9 on weekends – but to make the most of this night out, I recommend the

sunset cruise at 5:30.

Enjoy a sumptuous Filipino dinner, topped with a uniquely Pinoy specialty:

buko pandan salad while cruising along Manila Bay. During this three-hour cruise,

you will be serenaded by a live local band, and near the end of the ride, you have

the option to request any song you want or if you’re feeling extra confident, feel

free to take the stage and perform alongside them.

THE BAYLEAF, AFTER SUNSETAfter Sunset, don’t call it a night just yet! Keep going to experience Old Manila

like no other.

At The Bayleaf Intramuros, a boutique hotel within the Walled City, you

have two post-dinner options to cap the night off.

If you’re craving for something sweet and Spanish, grab some coffee and

THE WALLED CITY–AFTER DARKHead on down to Intramuros and discover that Old Manila, after dark tells a different story.

eDITORIAL ASSIGNmeNT, mABUHAY mAGAZINe; WRITTeN mAY 2014

Armed with the charm of a dim, flickering yellow light from a 19th-century lamppost, Old Manila at night tells a different story.

30/38

churros at Ciocolatta Churros Café, located on the hotel’s ground floor. Open

daily (weekdays from 6am to 10pm, and weekends from 10am to 8pm); this café

serves a concoction of favorite European sweets from Danishes and croissants, to

churros and baked muffins (and for those who are still hungry, light sandwiches)

that are sure to tickle your tastebuds.

Those who aren’t up for coffee or a cozy tete-a-tete can go right up to

the hotel’s Penthouse and enjoy their Sky Deck View Bar instead. Happy Hour at

the bar is from 5:30-9 so go ahead and grab some drinks; or you can always just

sit down, relax and enjoy each other’s company. On weekends, this bar that also

doubles as a restaurant offers an extensive buffet, complete with live entertain-

ment. But that’s not yet the best thing about this Sky Bar: with the stars and the

city lights as backdrop, the Sky Deck View Bar offers an unobstructed, panoramic

view of the Manila skyline that is simply enchanting.

What better way to experience the good old Filipino camaraderie and

hospitality at its best than around Manila’s glorious past? – Only, this time, try it

after dark.

But that’s not the best thing about this Sky Bar: with the stars and the city lights as backdrop, the Sky Deck View Bar offers and unobstructed, panoramic view of the Manila skyline that is simply enchanting.

FULL ARTCILE - The Walled City–After Dark // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

31/38

FULL ARTICLE - Mr. Consunji // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

There is a glass display case at the center of the room housing a prototype of

yet another architectural design: a Japanese-inspired building – the trademark

pagoda, open, spacious hallways, tiny, very green, (very plastic) trees and a vast

landscape. To the right: a bookshelf lined with history books and several awards

spans the wall behind a brown desk topped with paperwork.

This is where Mr. Consunji sits comfortably and waits.

We walk into his office, expecting a formal interview but right away, we

find that we are wrong: Mr. Consunji is easy to talk to and has an impeccable

memory.

Before any questions are asked, he beats us to it; many years ago, he tells

us, his father was admitted at St. Luke’s. He doesn’t pause to collect his thoughts

– there is no moment for the recollection of memory, no dramatic effect. Not to

worry, we are assured, he left the hospital well and alive – then he jumps straight

into another story.

David M. Consunji, founder and CEO of DMCI Inc., is 93 years old. You’d

think that at that age, he would be at home, getting his well-deserved rest, catch-

ing up on some leisure reading, sipping a warm glass of tea – but every morning,

he gets out of bed, walks into his office and it’s business as usual.

The interview is casual: Mr. Consunji shares fond stories from his childhood at

Pandacan; running around the hallways of The Philippine General Hospital –

where his aunt, the first woman medical board passer, used to work – as a child;

he even talks about how he acquired (and regretfully sold) his very first cement

mixing machine.

When St. Luke’s Medical Center is finally brought up, the businessman

jokes: “Naligaw lang ako sa inyo!” Mr. Consunji has been a patient of St. Luke’s

Medical Center since 1996, when he was first referred and introduced to Dr. Ed-

mundo Ofilada, who in turn, has been treating him since. Armed with his trade-

MR. CONSUNJIAn interview with Mr. David M. Consunji, CEO of DCMI, proves that in all aspects of his life, he is relentless

FeATURe ARTICLe WRITTeN FOR “mY ST. LUKe’S STORY”, WRITTeN JUNe 2014

...but every morning, he gets out of bed, walks into his office and it’s business as usual.

32/38

mark humor and wit, he then tells us that the reason he keeps returning to St.

Luke’s is because of his doctor’s good looks. “Ang pogi-pogi niya kasi!”

“I don’t know why Mr. Consunji keeps returning to me,” admits Dr. Ofilada

humbly, “I’m not much of a high-profile doctor!” For the rest of the interview, Mr.

Consunji remains aloof, but it doesn’t take a lot to tell that he is most comfortable

around his doctor and that over the years, a relationship of mutual trust and ca-

maraderie has been developed. “Maybe, sir,” Dr. Ofilada jokes back, addressing

Mr. Consunji, “It’s because I’m a good listener.”

Whatever the reason, Dr. Ofilada tells us that Mr. Consunji is not only one

of his most loyal patients, but a supporter as well. Because Mr. Consunji feels so

strongly about Dr. Ofilada’s advocacy and project (providing oral and dental care

for kids with diabetes), he donated money to keep the foundation growing and

has been endorsing St. Luke’s since. He admits that he’s never been confined at

the hospital, but that his friends and his father have been. He then adds that they

were happy with the service they received and emphasized that they were taken

care of well.

With finality, Mr. Consunji ends the interview by saying: “I am diabetic.” – But

even in that aspect of his life, he is relentless.

Instead of working around his medical condition or using it as an excuse

to be handicapped, he takes charge of it – regularly checking his blood sugar lev-

els, taking the required dose of insulin; even going to America in order to study it

himself – mindfully, he goes the extra mile to keep his health in check.

“Having a medical condition should not be a hindrance to one’s success.

– With good care,” he adds, “[people] are able to change their lives.” – Here, we

see that Mr. Consunji is living proof.

With finality, Mr. Consunji ends the interview by saying, “I am diabetic.” – But even in that aspect of his life, he is relentless.

FULL ARTICLE - Mr. Consunji // LARA LOUISE GABRIELLE L. ANTONIO

33/38

What happens when an esteemed and equally wealthy family’s lavish lifestyle puts

them in debt and forces them to sell their beloved estate? What would they be

willing to do, how far would they go? This, we find, is what Philippine Educational

Theatre Association (PETA)’s Arbol de Fuego – a Filipino adaptation of Anton

Chekov’s The Cherry Orchard – is about.

Cherie Gil comes in as Enriquetta (Rica) Jardeleza-Sofronio, the once-

wealthy matriarch who has just returned to her home after five years in Madrid.

Upon arrival, she finds that because of her notorious spending, her family’s beau-

tiful estate lined by the infamous arbol de fuego is nothing like it once was during

its heyday.

Enter Nonoy Tiking. Played by Raffy Tejada, Nonoy Tiking was born to a

family of household servants who have served the Jardeleza estate for genera-

tions. During Rica’s time in Madrid, he has become a wealthy businessman. Now

belonging to the nouveau rich, he attempts to help keep the Jardelezas from

falling into ruin. But his ideas are too liberal: cut down the beloved arbol de fuego

and sell parts of the property – sacrifices both Rica and her brother, Adjie (Jake

Macapagal), are unwilling to make.

The rest of the play is a back and forth. With the siblings squandering

what is left of their money and the rest of the ensemble trying to get them to

stop, it slowly becomes a tug of war between light and dark, tragedy and com-

edy. In the end, because they are unable to adjust to the changing times, the

Jardelezas do not get to save the estate. It is a bittersweet farewell – a poignant

end to the hacienda they have all loved for so long.

Despite the difficulty of the material, Loy Arcenas (director) and Rody Very

(playwright) were able to turn the Chekovian classic into a Filipino masterpiece of

their own. Vincent de Jesus’ sound design was also equally commendable and if

anything, those things alone could’ve easily made Arbol de Fuego the hit that it

was. But to give credit where it’s due: the play’s success is also a product of the

CHEKOV RE-MASTEREDA review of PETA’s Arbol de Fuego

FeATURe ARTICLe WRITTeN FOR mABUHAY mAGAZINe, PUBLISHeD mAY 2015

But his ideas are too liberal: cut down the beloved arbol de fuego and sell parts of the property – sacrifices both Rica and her brother, Adjie (Jake Macapagal), are un-willing to make.

34/38

masterful portrayals of its actors. In the end, when you finally see the cherry blos-

soms fall to the ground for one last time, you feel a striking pain in the pit of your

stomach you can only surmise is grief.

Arbol de Fuego was a stunning display of Filipino talent and equally bril-

liant storytelling packed with a rollercoaster of emotions that we were happy to

have witnessed – a fitting close to the tour de force that was PETA’s 47th season.

In the end, when you finally see the cherry blossoms fall to the ground for one last time, you feel a striking pain in the pit of your stomach you can only surmise is grief.

35/38

I am on an outrigger boat that is floating in the middle of the Abatan River. Every-

thing is pitch black. Except for the occasional splash from the boatmen paddling

down the river, there is practically no noise at all.

One of my companions, a photographer, has her gear ready. The tripod

is in place and the boatmen are rowing slowly, slowly, slowly. “A little bit back-

ward,” she calls out, and they follow, careful not to disturb the stillness of the

waters. I wonder if there are crocodiles here. My thoughts start to drift towards

the half-sunken mangroves—I can’t see much, only their silhouettes against the

backdrop of the full moon.

This is my last night in Bohol, I remember thinking. Show us the fireflies.

Bohol, Again

That was not my first time in Bohol. And yet, no matter how many times I return, I

still find myself captivated by the province’s diversity, heritage, and natural

beauty.

If you’re planning a trip to Bohol, here are five things to try:

1. A River Reinvented

A countryside tour of Bohol would not be complete without the Loboc River

Cruise–but for those of you who are thinking “been there, done that,” here’s

another option. Instead of taking the usual tour, book a private one. This way,

you get to see the river at your own pace and can request for the food to be

prepared to your liking. Choose to get your hands dirty and eat on traditional

banana leaves, with no utensils, boodle fight style. Loboc River at night also tells

a different story; book a night tour to have the stars as your backdrop while you

dine along the river. Call up CCT.168 travel & tours (+632 6386721) and they’ll take

REDISCOVERING BOHOLKnown for its heritage churches, Chocolate Hills, and resident tarsier, here’s how to add a twist to this island’s iconic attractions.

FeATURe ARTICLe WRITTeN FOR mABUHAY mAGAZINe, PUBLISHeD JUNe 2015

“A little bit backward,” she calls out, and they follow, careful not to disturb the stillness of the waters. I wonder if there are crocodiles here. My thoughts start to drift towards the half-sunken mangroves—I can’t see much, only their silhouettes against the backdrop of the full moon.

36/38

The small island has white sand, warm blue waters and a marine sanctuary decked with untouched coral reefs, and rainbow-colored fishes.

care of everything. Just book in advance.

For the more adventurous traveler: Aside from dining along Loboc River, why not

paddleboard your way through it? This gives you an opportunity to get up close

and personal with the rich biodiversity of Bohol, and get to tick boarding in style

off your bucket list at the same time. suptoursphilippines.com/bohol

2. Flying Over Chocolate Hills

Bohol has always been famous for its churches, but since the 7.2 magnitude earth-

quake in 2013, most of the churches were destroyed and some of them are still

left in ruin. Today, the ruins give Bohol another charm all on its own. Like a scene

straight out of a Tomb Raider movie, visitors must step over ruins or walk through

hallways containing relics that survived the damage. At the end of these tours,

don’t forget to help restore the churches by dropping whatever you can spare in

a donation box by the entrance.

3. Ruins and Restoration

Bohol has always been famous for its churches, but since the earthquake in 2013,

most of the churches were destroyed and some of them are still left in ruin. While

it is a shame that the cobblestones and the coral walls are now either completely

gone, or barely there, the ruins give Bohol another charm all on its own. Now,

touring these churches is an experience in itself–you have to step over ruins or

walk through a hallway where walls have fallen apart. Makes you feel more like

you’ve walked into a war-zoneor a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie. Eerie but

definitely recommended.

4. Dolphins and Beyond

Famous for dolphin watching, Pamilacan Island is about 45 minutes by boat from

Panglao Island. On good days, the boatmen say that dolphins chase the boats,

flipping about to catch the passengers’ attention. Unfortunately, when I went,

the dolphins didn’t make an appearance but I discovered that Pamilican Island

still has more to offer. This small island has white sand, warm blue waters, and a

marine sanctuary decked with untouched coral reefs and rainbow-colored fishes.

During my swim, I was even lucky enough to see a swarm of sardine clumped 37/38

During those forty-five minutes, especially on a cold night, you will get to catch the fireflies light up the Abatan River’s mangroves like Christmas lights.

together forming one giant ball. Tip: only paddleboats are allowed, so you have

to inform the boatmen if you want to snorkel so they can prepare your gear. From

there, you can easily head to Balicasag Island for diving, and the Virgin Island

Sandbar for some good old beach bumming.

5. Chasing Fireflies

Do you remember that scene in James Cameron’s movie Avatar? Where the tree

of life starts glowing with souls? Bohol has its own version of that scene: an entire

river’s worth. To see it, head over to the town of Maribojoc and visit theAbatan

Welcome Center. The tour operators will take you down the river on a motorized

sampan. During those forty-five minutes, especially on a cold night, you will get

to catch the fireflies light up the Abatan River’s mangroves like Christmas lights.

For that reason alone, this has become my favorite attraction in Bohol. A friendly

reminder: don’t forget to wear mosquito repellant.

Apart from my top five experiences, there are more reasons to revisit Bohol, such

as going on an evening tour at the Tarsier Sanctuary, where you have a chance to

see these nocturnal creatures awake and in action. You can also visit one of the

few surviving Spanish era forts, the Punta Cruz Watchtower, at sunset; take a stroll

along the manmade Mahogany Forest, or simply bum it out on one of the island’s

beaches.

The options are endless—you just have to discover them for yourself.

Where to Eat:

One of the local’s favorites, Mangga Market offers the experience of shopping for

your own fresh, raw seafood, then having it cooked at a nearby carinderia (local

eatery)—grilled, steamed, fried, you choose.

Where to Stay:

For both nature and comfort, book a stay at BlueWater Panglao. Located at Da-

nao, Panglao Island, the resort’s architecture was designed to work around and

with nature, giving you a beachfront resort with a landscape that follows Bohol’s

natural topography. While you’re there make sure to try their signature Amuma

Spa, and their numerous island activities from beach volleyball, to snorkeling,

kayaking, island hoping and diving.38/38

LAYOUT BY CHE BANTAYAN

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