My friend S

Ever since I discovered that someone I know, a woman I used to work for eight years ago for just four months, had a resurgence of the cancer she had previously battled so succesfully, I have been reading her blog religiously. She is 41. She has a husband, a daughter and a son. The children are under the age of six. And despite a mastectomy, the cancer has returned to her body - her liver, her lungs and her brain.

She is a master blogger - posting every day, Monday through Friday - despite her illness, the various combinations of medication, oxygen tank sessions and chemotherapy, not to mention the journals, recordings and scrapbooks she is preparing for her children, so they will have communication from her after she is gone.

It is possibly one of the most difficult blogs to read due and there are more than a few posts that have brought me to easy tears. S is a humanist in the traditional sense. She believes in the power and the goodness of human beings, but despite being the daughter of Christian pastor, she most emphatically, does not believe in God. God, she says is nice to have, but He is a fairy tale that human beings have created because they are simply not strong enough to accept the truth that life is just that, and when it ends, it ends, and there is nothing more.

I read this blog every day, and even post comments occasionally. I do not make the mistake, as other blog readers have done, of trying to get her to see God. I know her too well. She will not let me get away with that. I worked with the woman as my editor for four straight months, and the work part of it nearly drove me to my wits end. She was and remains incessantly intense in the putting forth of her opinions, demanding explanations in the manner of a human bulldozer. But there would be moments outside of work, when we would talk of my K and C or when we would have lunch, when she would have unexpected softness that would surprise me and win me over, if only for that moment.

I also read her blog to make sure she is alive, to read her impressions and opinions which are less bulldozing on the internet page than if verbalised face to face. I pray for S every day, for her healing and for her peace and for the continually amazing courage of the members of her family. S is one of the most courageous people I know. The fact that she can be like this despite her disease all the while believing in nothing eles but herself is amazing. It is true that death will come to all of us. But S lives with its grim reality every day, like bread and butter at breakfast. More than anyone else, she lives with its certainty and manages with grace and courage to keep it at bay with every passing day.

Yesterday, I read that she will no longer blog five days a week but reduce it to three. She says she can no longer get to it these days...and she apologises to her scores of readers. "You have all the time in the world, but I do not."

Vicky Christina Barcelona and Osbourne Cox

Of late, the truly entertaining, well-written movie has become somewhat scarce for us. But in the last two weeks, the tide has turned in Singapore as both Woody Allen's Vicky Christina Barcelona and the Coen brothers' Burn After Reading are playing at the same time.

As a Woody Allen fanatic, I will say that VCB ranks up there due to its novelty. After Matchpoint, we are now accustomed to a Woody Allen film without a Woody Allen character. But somehow VCB goes beyond that in its exploration of the various ways a woman searches for and responds to love and the idiosyncracies of the romantic relationship. Not since Hannah & Her Sisters has Allen delved so thoroughly into the feminine heart and the mysteries therein, and to such comic effect. Once again, casting director Juliet Taylor triumphed with Spanish actors Javier Bardem as Juan Antonio and Penelope Cruz as Maria Elena, characters that could have deteriorated on the page as mere cliches, but were so thoroughly developed by these artists into complex, flesh and blood beings who actually risk eclipsing the heroines completely. My only quibble, and it is a small one, is the use of the isolated narrator. Voice over is a tool Allen has used for decades, but it is frequently the voice-over of one of the characters of the movie. To my mind, this particular voice over tended to be disruptive and it would have been possible to let the film play out without some of the editorialising exposition, as well-written as it was - (..."and Christina...certain only of what she did not want". As a cheat, I would have made the narrative voice-over either Vicky as one of the more grounded characters or perhaps even the hostess ably portrayed by Patricia Clarkson.

Burn after Reading is not the triumph that Fargo was, in terms of writing, though of course, it has its own delightful ingenuity. But seeing the likes of Pitt and Clooney and McDormand and Malkovich play those pathetic characters was tremendously entertaining - even if the overall darkness of the plot in the end was a bit disturbing and didn't have the affectation of a moral centre that Fargo did. Yet the richness of the characters,their various mishaps and the mayhem that resulted all worked together so beautifully to express a most frightening message of random human stupidity and meaningless cruel chaos in a tragic world in which it is humorously and insistently clear, there is quite simply no justice.

A basketball game

Chalk it up to free tickets from C's basketball coach and to the fact that T and I were sorry to miss the two games that brought Ateneo their recent championship against La Salle. And because C has been such an enthusiastic junior player, we thought it would be good for him to see an exciting live game - the Singapore Slingers against the Purefoods Tender Juicy Giants seemed like the perfect opportunity. Even K was open to the new experience of driving to the stadium to cheer for the Philippine team against the Singapore team.

When we finally arrived, after having grabbed a tide-us-over snacks from Toast Box and Breadtalk, we noticed the masses of Filipinos in queues outside the stadium. For a second, it occured to me that this could have been Araneta or Loyola, for the crowd that had gathered.

"Everyone is Filipino," K observed.
"Filipinos love basketball." T said.
"When the Singapore Slingers fight against another country, then I'll cheer for them. But if they fight against the Philippines, I'll cheer for the Philippines." C said.

But I looked around and thought, with this crowd there would be no one cheering for the Singapore team.

By happenstance, T was able to score tickets from CLSA Asia Pacific Markets - so instead of the run-of-the-mill free tickets we had, we were going to sit in a box with a great view. Naturally, we were all very excited. When we got to our seats,
there was a Singaporean family sitting in our seats, but we showed them our tickets, which were numbered, and then they moved.

As we settled in, it was clear that the Philippine team had it's work cut out for them. This year's batch of Singapore Slingers all averaged six feet compared to the rather puny, ironically named Tender Juicy Giants. Even in the first few minutes, the Slingers took a quick and early lead, making a number of shots from the outside, while the Giants were playing a very physical, inside game. Let it be said now, that there was one Singaporean on the Slinger team and he was tall, and the rest were imports, mostly from Australia and a couple from the US. According to our pamphlet, there was also a Filipino on the Slingers team ("Traitor!" said C).

So there we were, sitting in our CLSA boxed sheets, when it soon became evident to those in the neighboring boxes that our family of four rather vocal fans were cheering for Purefoods. I began to notice that they were all cheering for the Slingers. In truth, about 90 percent of the spectators on all sides were cheering for the Philippines...with the exception of smatterings of Caucasian fans here and there.

One Caucasian lady in the next box looks up as I am shouting my head off, and says, "Excuse me, but does CLSA know you're sitting in their box and cheering for the Philippines?"

"I don't know." I said, shrugging. "Is it a problem."

"Not for me," She said, "But CLSA might have..." She said with a very definite tone.

The nerve, I thought.

But that's when I noticed while my children cheered and clapped and whistled conspicuously in our rather silent box every time Purefoods made a hard earned basket, that on the Slingers jerseys was the CLSA Pacific Markets logo. CLSA was the Singapore Slingers main sponsor! Sound of embarrassed music: Wenk wenk wenk wenk wenk...

In seconds, we hastily evacuated the box and left it for Singapore star Gurmit Singh to occupy, and we're happy to cheer our team in the comfort of the Pinoy crowds, who at the end of the day, took up the entire stadium, reacting to every referee ruling againt Purefoods with hoots and howls and boos. There were even a number of heated moments between the spectators and the officials resulting in items thrown in the air. The announcer had to warn the audience that people would be arrested, if caught.

But in the end, though Purefoods fought long and hard, they couldn't make a permanent dent in the Slingers lead. After all, they were not giants at all, not by a long shot.

Still it was a good game. And a good experience for the kids, who discovered that they were ardent basketball fans, even K who cheered herself hoarse. And though the Slngers did win, it was sad that they had so few supporters to cheer them on.

And at the end of the game, the announcer congratulated the team, and then he congratulated the fans, saying,

"By fans, I mean, the Filipino fans!"